Storiesonline.net ------- Columbia by Sea-Life Copyright© 2009 by Sea-Life ------- Description: Sam Kendall survived the reaping, but now he has to survive the birth of a new country created by those who survived with him. Codes: ScFi ------- ------- Chapter 1: River World The Dun Road was muddy for a change, and man and rider were stepping gingerly across the slick spots where water still washed across the surface. "It's okay Ware, take your time. It'll probably be a real mud bath on the way back," Greg Michaels said aloud to his horse. "This is just the warm up." The rain had come and gone, but it was still too early in the day for the sun to burn the water off the surface, and it was still too early in the spring for the water to evaporate quickly without it. As he rode, still hopeful that he wouldn't be coming home wet and muddy, unless he managed to fall off his horse, he wondered about the coming gathering. The Porter clan was meeting in advance of the Kendall clan's annual gathering, though Greg hadn't heard that officially. It was getting dark as he finally saw the lights of the gate house. Dan Carmody was tending the gate tonight. "Evenin' Greg, welcome home," the older man said. "Evening Dan, am I late for supper?" "I expect not. There's been Porters stragglin' in all day, and you're about the last of them, I think, except for Jack." "Thanks. Call ahead to the house if you would, let 'em know I'm riding up?" "Already did," the guard said, waving at Greg's back as he set off at a trot towards the main house. After seeing to his horse, Greg ran across the compound to the front door. Haley was there waiting for him, and jumped into his arms with a squeal. "Hey sis," he said, laughing as he spun her around, "miss me?" "Damned right I did," she laughed in return. "Especially since I've been stuck here with these ... Porters, for two days now without you!" "Hey, you were no foundling left in a bundle at the door my dear. I'm for sure a Porter, and we're twins, so what does that make you?" Greg asked, and then without waiting for an answer, held up a mail bag. "Speaking of bundles, the mail was in when I stopped in Hermiston, so I grabbed ours." Greg thought about the twins thing as they walked arm in arm towards the dining hall. The second generation after the Reaping had been rich with twins, as if mother nature herself had decided to jump in and give mankind a hand in repopulating the Earth. He could think of more than a dozen sets of twins among his closest acquaintances, and almost half of those were just within the Kendall and Porter clans. The meal was formal in everything but dress. Grandma Carrie and Grandpa Joe were seldom home these days, so things mattered when they were. The couple sat together at the end of the huge dining table that had once been used to accommodate groups of vacationers and tourists seeking to capture a little of the rustic rancher's lifestyle. Greg and Haley's parents, Wendy and Kory Michaels were there, as well as their slightly older sister Jenna. So was their Uncle Henry and his wife Susie and their sons Sam, Lowell and Jack; Uncle David, his wife Renata and their three boys Ian, Argus and Tucker; Uncle Niel and his wife Jessie and their twins Patrick and Pietra. The rest of the Porter Clan was already in Greer, having moved there to be near the hospital, where Great-Grandma Porter was a frequent in-patient, due to her failing health. Joe Porter held up an envelope. "Sam Kendall has called for a birthday gathering in three months." Grandpa Joe announced. There were nods around the table. This was expected. "That means the Kendalls, Porters, and Harwells, of course," Grandma Carrie said. "Everyone with blood ties to the Kendall clan." "According to this letter, he has asked for representatives from some of the old Cold Lake families like the Arguses and the Nilesons, as well as some of the Hermiston families like the Thorsons, Wilsons and Warners." There were nods and murmurs around the table. This must be big. The murmurs threatened to get out of hand until Grandma Carrie rapped her glass on the table. "The fact is Sam Kendall hasn't offered up a new birthday revelation in at least a decade," she said loudly. "This is probably word of some major plot by the Denied, or another call to action from the Catholics." "I doubt it's the Catholics," Henry Porter argued. "They've been trying to save up the resources for this expedition of theirs and can't even find enough volunteers to staff it properly, but they're not plotters." "They have been pretty persistent of late in their attempts to get the Council to order a unit of the military reserve to provide security for their expedition." "Pretty unrealistic you mean," Joe added. "Nobody in the military reserve or on the council will agree to something so foolish. An expedition to the Mediterranean would take years, it would be unlikely to succeed and for what? To rescue a bunch of slowly molding religious relics?" "Rome and Jerusalem are very important places in these people's faiths," Wendy Porter countered. "They're important to our own history as well. There is some value in preserving some of this history." "Some value, yes," Niel Porter agreed. "But enough value to prioritize it above feeding, clothing and educating our children? Enough to place it above guarding our herds and crops? I don't think so." "No, and as I said, neither do most people, or the council." "Alright," Ian said, "so lets not gnaw that bone to death. We'll know when we know." "You mean when our uncle Sam tells us," Sam said. "Please, none of that old Uncle Sam joke. It was worn out from overuse a decade ago," Dave Porter said. It got him a chuckle, but there were no repeats of the old conflation. "Alright, so which of us should go then?" Lowell asked. It was a Porter axiom that nothing settled quietly was ever really settled. Choosing who would represent each family and sub-family in the Porter clan was not something to be settled overnight. Heated discussions ensued, and some ascended to the level of argument. Most were friendly, despite their dramatic nature. Sam Porter staked his claim pretty quickly as the representative of Henry and Susie Porter's children. He was the oldest, and already attending classes at Columbia University, at the former Washington State campus at Pullman. Ian, Argus and Tucker Porter, the three sons of David and Renata Porter actually played the old paper-scissor-rock game to determine their representative, and it was Ian, the eldest, who won. Patrick and Pietra, the other pair of twins in the Porter family were going, as the only children of Niel and Jessie Porter. Their mother patted her swollen belly and said, with a laugh, "Don't worry, you'll be able to argue about who gets to go the next time." "It will be like this in all the families that have been called," Joe Porter said later that evening. "Brothers and sisters vying for the right to represent their siblings. Lets hope there was no more bloodshed than what we saw here tonight." Jenna Michaels saddled her horse and slipped quietly away from the ranch before dawn the next morning. She headed southwest on Diagonal Boulevard; what was called the Hermiston Highway. She skirted Hermiston itself when she got there, riding the outer streets until she was able to reconnect with Hermiston Highway on the other side of town. From there she followed it through the ghost town of Bucks Corners until it met up with the old Oregon Trail highway 84. She would follow this route northwest to Boardman, where she could catch a ferry downriver. ------- "Taegan, pull up a minute." "Come on Con, you don't want to keep him waiting do you?" "Pull up, you idiot, I think my horse has picked up a stone." "Oh, well why didn't you say so." The two boys pulled to a stop alongside to the road, and Conway Kendall began to slowly inspect his horse's shod feet, looking for a stone or other object that could be causing the horse to favor a foot. "Couldn't you tell which foot he favored?" "Well sure, its the back right hoof, but no sense leaving the others go, since we had to stop anyway. You know what Dad says." "Treat your horse like you treat yourself!" the two boys laughed as they repeated their fathers oft-quoted words together. "Here it is, looks like a bit of wire from a frayed cable or some wire rope. Its bleeding pretty good, but I got it out without too much trouble." "We'll that's what you get for having to double back on the trail because you forgot your damned glasses." "I told you I was sorry, what more do you want!" Conway said defensively. "Take it easy, its no big deal, just keep an eye on him until we can get him looked at in Cascade Locks. You can always borrow a horse for the rest of the trip, or we could ride the steamer upriver the rest of the way." "The steamer might get us back on schedule," Conway said hopefully. "Probably," Conway said as he remounted his horse and they began, at a slow walk at first, headed upriver again. "So what do you think he wants?" "Con, are you going to ask me that once every mile? I don't know what he wants. Whoever knows what he wants. He's the great and mysterious Oz, and we show up every once in a while, he pulls aside the curtain and we worship at his feet." "Taegan Kendall that is the most unfair, cruelest thing I've ever heard in my life. Grandpa Kendall is a good man, who saved mankind and has never asked for anything in return. So he likes to see his family once in a while, what's so hard about that?" "Nothing, but I got you to answer your own damned question, now didn't I? So maybe now you'll shut up about it and we can finish this ride in peace!" Fifteen year old twins have long been considered a species of their own by most humans, and even post-Reaping, human opinion hadn't changed. That these two twins had the Kendall name meant less than the knowledge that they had the Kendall spirit as well. They hadn't had a chance to meet their Great Grandma Kendall in person. She had died well before either of them was born, but they had seen home movies and even video of her. Her calming, grandmotherly tones had become the voice of the new Republic of Columbia. She had made the first radio announcements that had kept the people, spread out as they were along the length of the river, informed and understanding. Later she had been the face of the new government in a series of televised news and educational broadcasts and tapes. She even did a cooking show. 'Betty Crocker of the apocalypse' as she loved to describe herself. The twins, like a lot of her descendants in this generation, had let her words and spirit mold them. They were, in some ways, more a reflection of her than they were of their Grandpa Kendall, or even of their own parents. Perhaps it showed in the spirit with which they argued, even if it was to argue over nothing. On the road again, it never occurred to either boy that they had played out this entire scene in front of their silent but ever-present bodyguard, Huck Scales. The old warrior had to be pushing 50 now, but like all those of his era who had spent a lot of time with their Grandpa Kendall, he seemed to be aging at a slower rate than most. He still looked and moved like an active man in his early 30's. The boys could enjoy the ability to take their eyes off the trail and stare at the hooves of a horse only because Huck was there to scan the horizon for them, always with an eye out for danger. It was growing dark by the time they rode out of the dying light down the road that came down off the slope of the canyon to meet the river and the town. They rode through the semi-deserted streets until the saw the lights of the Bridge of the Gods Inn. After stabling their horses they entered the inn proper and, across the room, a pair of familiar faces resolved into those of their cousin Lily and Uncle Pip. Pip and Lily were both two years older than the twins. Sammy Kendall junior was a late surprise for Sam and Greta Kendall. A pleasantly received one! Pip and Lily had actually been born on the same day, and thus Taegan and Conway called them the 'un-twins'. "Good evening, nephews, how was the ride up from the PMR?" Pip asked. "Pretty uncomplicated, except for Con's horse," Taegan answered. "We need to get my horse looked at when we get to Cascade Locks," Conway told them. "Hash picked up a piece of metal on the ride here, once we got it out, he did okay the rest of the ride, but I need to have it checked out." "Did you have Huck look at it?" Lily asked. "Huck? Ahh ... no we didn't think to, actually," Conway stammered. The four of them turned collectively to look at Huck, who sat silently, a table away from them. "The hoof looked clean and wasn't bleeding anymore," Huck told them. "I'll sprinkle a little cure-all on his oats tonight, and I doubt it'll be any trouble. There's lots of help along that route if he does pull up lame." "Its not the help that's available we'll need to be worried about," Pip said. "Dad's worried about the Church of the Denied Ascension again." "Those idiots!" Conway spat. "They can't even follow their own logic, let alone an honest opinion from someone who disagrees with them." "They've got an advantage most old religions would have loved to have. Their devil is alive and walking about and bleeds red when you stick him," Pip said. "Trust me, Dad takes every threat very seriously." "As long as the folks at PMR are still happy with him, the Denied have to keep their plots under the radar at least. Without them it could well be an armed insurrection," Taegan said. "No, don't fool yourself," Lily laughed. "Reverend Marchand likes to make it look like there are thousands of Denied in his church, but the numbers are more in the hundreds, and low hundreds at that. He's also fond of bringing groups to other people's demonstrations. Its easy to claim later that they rose in opposition or support or whatever the situation required, and count the numbers of all those present rather than just their own numbers." "Well they're the most organized and vocal of Dad's opponents," Pip said, "and they're able to make it personal, and based on faith. Those are hard to counteract, and you can't educate away people's faith. The Troops at the Portland Military Reserve are loyal to the idea of keeping humanity alive and growing. They could care less about dad or the Reverend as long as neither of them is interfering with that process." "Captain Thorson is no hothead, and he believes in Grandpa," Conway observed. "Personally and politically, he's an ally, and the majority of the mobile military forces will follow him, whatever direction he chooses to go." "That's a good thing, and just the natural result of Grandpa being the kind of person he is," Lily offered. "People trust him and they believe in him." "Did you two get a note from Dad?" Pip asked. Taegan tapped a finger to the side of his head. "What I know is right here, and no where else. I remember being asked not to share it. Is this all some sort of game Pip?" "He may be my dad, but I'm not his confidant. Only Carlos Arellano is close enough to know which way he's moving at any given moment." "Well he's got us moving, and its not time for one of those birthday announcements he used to do when we were little," Taegan replied. "It's Sam Kendall, what're we gonna do, ignore him?" Taegan's comment produced a lot of thoughtful looks, and a lot of silence as the group rode on together towards Cascade Locks. ------- Chapter 2: The House on the Hill Once the Reaping was done, it took some time for the chaos to die and the reality of their survival to come clear to the majority of the people who remained. Eventually those people selected recognized leaders, and those leaders made the decisions that brought the river-state called Columbia into existence. The people of the new nation, now Earth's only nation, sought some way to show their appreciation to Sam Kendall. For his part, Sam flatly refused statues and memorials, not that some weren't erected anyway. Sam refused to be recognized for the act of having simply being chosen by an agent or agents still unknown to them. In the end it was decided by the fledgling council that Sam Kendall was going to be the most public of figures and one who would need to be available to the people, and at the same time, safe. Safety became an issue after some people began speaking out against Sam, some from paranoid fear of the unknown, others on religious principals, and still some simply out of a hope that, by standing apart, they would prosper. Sam's youth, and his open, honest demeanor kept the worst of those who opposed him from saying or doing much, at least openly, but as the new civilization grew and strengthened, so too did the opposition. Sam and his family needed a safe place to live, and yet a place where people could gather in large numbers. A place was chosen, and a home was built, a great lodge of stone and massive timbers high above the river on the western edge of the Wallula Gap. A towering stone cliff across the Columbia from the old pre-Reaping town of Twin Sisters, and south of old Kennewick, what had become the new capitol of Greer. He had named the complex Echo Park, and very few outside of the families knew the significance that lay beneath it. It was both remote, and at the same time, close enough to the new seat of government to allow Sam the level of involvement he wanted, or more accurately, the level of involvement the Council wanted. Those who remained, from the Umatilla Ordnance Depot and other places, and wished to remain in military service, formed the Portland Military Reserve, and a conscious effort was made to name leaders who would refuse to allow the PMR, as they came to be known, as a weapon in anyone's political games. Echo Park was one of the few places in Columbia to have its own detachment of soldiers. They served as guards and security for Echo Park's public areas. Carlos Arellano's crew, mostly his offspring as well as those of Dwight and Huck Scales, handled personal security within the residence and at Sam Kendall's side, as well as the individual security for his wife Greta and their family. A few others who had shown some skill over the years joined the team, and only Carlos and Sam Kendall knew them all. They had come to be considered a bit legendary themselves, and were known as 'the Cayuse', after the Scales brother's reputed ancestors. The two old friends sat in Sam's private study, surrounded by the souvenirs from decades of struggle and accomplishment. An old pre-Reaping map of Oregon sat between them on the small table. "You've had plenty of time to second guess yourself, and me on this one," Sam said with a chuckle. "Do you still like the routes we've picked?" Sam asked. "Looking at the map, I think I would have made the same choices. We need to know that the bees will be drawn to the honey though, so get someone on station in Wasco. Tell them to find a building that can be used to warehouse whatever we'll need. Station them there right away." "Probably a good idea. We'll want to sound out the families in the area, get a good read on their religious leanings. We'll want to keep an eye out for Church of the Denied sympathizers." "You'd think we hadn't had this conversation a dozen times already and already set the wheels in motion for things to come to a head on the road out of Wasco," Sam admitted. "Yeah, but you feel better each time we do. Lets go, time to saddle up!" -oOo- Jenna Michaels waited at the edge of the slip, hoping to spot the Pride as soon as she could. Word had come by radio that the ferry had left Irrigon earlier, and should be coming into view soon. There had been a delay of some kind in Umatilla. Something had kept the Pride docked for several extra hours. Jenna was curious to find out what it had been, but the ferry had to get to Boardman first, so she exercised patience, or tried to. The last time she'd taken a ferry it had been to ride to Greer for a wedding. She'd been accompanied by a throng of Porters, of course, but also by Taegan and Conway Kendall, returning from their first year at the PMR training center at the old University of Portland campus. They had worn their cadet uniforms and had seemed to both have grown taller, as well as both having that sharp-eyed look of men trained to kill. Jenna felt a little flutter when she thought of Taegan Kendall's eyes, and suppressed the feeling quickly. As much as she was convinced of her own feelings, there was no way yet she wanted him to see it in her eyes. "Any sign of it yet?" a familiar voice spoke softly behind her. She turned and saw her cousin Sam standing a few yards away, looking up river as she had been. "Not that my eyes can see," she sighed. "What has you so eager to greet the boat?" "Well, I could say it was just that the sooner the boat gets here the sooner we can both be on the road to where we're going..." "But the truth of that is something you've been asked not to reveal?" Jenna asked. "Yeah..." Sam said with a sigh of his own, "How odd that of a household full of Porters, you and I are the only two who got a note." "What?" Jenna asked, pretending confusion. "Oh come on Jen, I figured that if one Porter got one, more had to, so I kept an eye out. Come to think of it, you seemed a little distracted just now. A little dreamy-eyed. Just what were you thinking of when I walked up, or better yet, who?" "Taegan," she whispered. "I'd always thought he would be the one," Sam said with a nod. "You know, the old stories say that in some cultures in the old world, twins would have both married the same person." "Sure!" Jenna said with a laugh, "First of all, that was usually female twins, not male, and second of all, with all the twins being born in the family, that's not likely to happen." "I wouldn't be surprised to hear that Greg and Hailey wound up married to a set of twins," Sam offered. "Well even for twins, I think my little brother and sister are far to close for comfort, but who am I to demand that the world shrink to fit my sensibilities?" "As long as they practice good genetics?" "Oh bullshit!" Jenna cursed. "Spare me from another lecture about propagating the species and good genetics. Grandma Kendall's generation got lectured on venereal disease and saving themselves for marriage. Our generation gets lectured on falling in love and have babies, and by the way, we kinda insist you do it in a genetically diverse way." "C'mon Jen, its not that bad, is it?" "No, but we seem to be constantly reminded that we are all future baby factories. When our health classes talk about being healthy girls, they mean healthy moms who'll have healthy children. Same with our physical training; we're reminded over and over that we need fit bodies to bear strong children. We get that crap at every turn. You don't know what its like, Sam." "I guess I don't," the older boy admitted. "I've kissed a few girls here and there, and none of them ever complained about future expectations." "I wouldn't expect they had, cuz," Jenna snorted. "You do know you're considered a hunk, don't you? And you're a Porter, that means you're quite the catch!" "I think that's why I like Lily, she doesn't see me like that at all," Sam explained. "Can you see anything yet?" "Of course not, she's more of a catch than you are. She's a Kendall after all, and she looks so much like Grandma Greta that its spooky!" Jenna turned back to the river, casting her eyes upriver again. Sure enough, she spotted the ferry, a small dimple of darkness that broke the plane of the horizon where the river drew it for her eyes. "Yes, I see it now. Won't be long, Sam." The two stood in silence for a while before Sam continued the conversation where it had left off. "Grandma Greta is a Porter too, and that makes us cousins to the Kendalls. Don't you worry about being too close by blood for having children when the time comes? "I don't see how we can worry about our grandparents being related. As few people as were left on Earth after the reaping, we're all forced to marry closer to our own blood than before." "Now who's spouting the Council's line?" Sam asked. "You should have a few years still before you have to worry about marriage, even if they do expect us all to marry young." The silence of the morning and the quiet of the river enveloped them again as they both turned to stare down the river at the approaching ship. Each of them only added a single sigh to the stillness that remained. -oOo- John Cantor rode into what was once Wasco, Oregon on his horse, Pagan, with a mule following on a lead. Wasco was a small town before the Reaping and just barely avoided being another ghost town now. It was a dull, dry morning with the sky full of high, hazy clouds and no breeze at all, rare for these parts. The row of buildings on what passed for the main street of Wasco were pretty unimpressive. An old market, an empty and useless gas station, a bar, and what looked like it might have once been a newspaper office. This wasn't a living city anymore, but there were three or four large, extended families who farmed the area, and they used Wasco as their central hub and meeting place. John was surprised to see an old neon sign lit in the window of the bar. It said 'OPEN' in a friendly red script, so he tied Pagan and the mule up in front of it and tried the door. It was unlocked. A typical tavern greeted him on the inside, dimly lit with a long bar along the wall to his right, and a series of small tables filling the rest of the room. There was even a pool table at the back and a jukebox against the wall by the door. "Well, don't just stand there stranger," came a rough voice from the bar area. "Step over to the bar so I can get a look at you." John walked over and, as he did, finally spotted the woman who belonged to the voice. She was leaning against a post at the edge of the bar, a rifle in her hand. "No need for the rifle, ma'am," John said. "You armed?" she asked. "Of course," John answered. "I've got a pistol on my hip and a knife on my belt, and there's a rifle on my horse." "Well, an honest answer, it appears to me. Pull up a stool. What can I get you?" "Don't suppose you have a cold beer?" John asked, almost as a joke. "Matter of fact I do," the woman said. She walked towards the middle of the bar, setting the rifle down somewhere under the bar and grabbed a glass and began to fill it from a tap. "I'll be damned," John said with a chuckle. "My name's Ruth," the woman said, setting the glass in front of him. "s'pose you're gonna pay for that with Columbia coin?" "Yes, ma'am," John answered. "Well, its as good as you can get these days. That'll be one Eagle." An Eagle was a day's wages for John, but he pulled one out of his pocket and paid gladly before taking a drink of the beer. It had a rich, warm flavor that was unexpected, but the frosty cold beer finished with a clean crisp bite that he liked. "Good beer!" he said as soon as he had finished the first swallow. "Thanks, that was a good batch. I'm right proud of it." With his whistle wet and the woman standing closer, John took a longer look at her. She was short, probably no more than five feet, and built something like a fireplug, he thought. She had short-cropped gray hair that looked to have been done via the bowl-cut method. She had bright, twinkling blue eyes set just above one of the ugliest broken noses he'd ever seen. He caught himself staring at it, and decided he'd better try the honesty routine again. "Damn, that's about the most spectacularly ugly nose I've ever seen!" he said, not without some real admiration. "HAH!" Ruth snorted, slapping her hand on the bar. "I like you kid, you don't pull your punches, do you?" John chose to take another swallow of the delicious beer rather than answer. "Well, my second husband gave me this, but he had to trade a kick in the nuts and an axe handle to the mouth for it. Knocked out three of his teeth and sent him packing. That was before the Reaping, of course. I decided I was done with getting married after that bastard, so I been living in sin with one handsome Johnny after another ever since. Don't suppose you're interested in applying for the position?" The way she said it, and the grin on her face and the twinkle in her eye as she did, brought the laughter bursting out of John, and he could only be grateful she hadn't said it while he was still swallowing beer. He slapped the bar himself and only managed a "Now who's not pulling any punches" before the laughter caught him again. John sat for an hour, nursing a second beer and talking to Ruth Brewer. That wasn't her real last name, but she'd taken it when she'd taken up brewing beer, not wanting to keep her last husband's name. John got to hear her 'meeting Sam Kendall' story, which everyone of a certain age had, of course. As with a lot of people from these rural areas, she'd met him at a church service, but unlike most, she hadn't hand-crafted her meeting into a poignant tale of self-importance. "Always thought it was funny the way that kid at church wanted to shake everyone's hand, but didn't really think more of it until I heard the radio broadcasts." "I was born after the Reaping, so I don't have a story, but I have met him," John said. "He tries hard to keep from being treated special. It's a shame he's always got to worry about somebody pulling a gun out and trying to shoot him, or set off a bomb nearby." "Is it really that bad?" Ruth asked. "I'd heard those Church of the Denied folks were hard after him, but I didn't think it was that bad." "He's literally the devil to them. According to their beliefs, he is the single reason they didn't get to heaven." John stated the fact, but in as non-committed a manner as he could. "Well, I think those people are all whiners and cry-babies," Ruth answered back with a little whistle of disgust. They discussed his reasons for being there, as much as John was willing to discuss, and his need for a building to use as a warehouse. In the end, Ruth steered him towards a large building one street back from the main road, a former farmer's co-op. It was plenty large enough for his purposes and still in good shape. Better still it had big double doors on one side and a very open floor plan that would lend itself to being used for temporary storage. "There's even an apartment above it, if you're planning on staying to watch over the place," Ruth commented. "If I say I am, does that mean you'll be sicking every single woman withing fifty miles after me?" "Oh, no I won't have to sick them on you boy, they'll come around all on their own!" she hollered from the corner as she was walking back the way they'd come. John groaned out loud. As he turned back into the deserted building, he thought about what Ruth's words might mean. "Daddy always said that there was no harm in doing a little window shopping, even if you weren't planning to buy the goods," John said out loud to no one but himself. A part of him looked forward to it, because there had always been something about farm girls he liked, but the part of him that knew what his job meant was reluctant to get involved with anyone who might tie him down. Others had done it, and indeed, their decisions had practically given birth to a home-grown Cayuse breeding program, but he didn't see himself ready for a life that left a woman at home waiting for him. Time to worry about such things later. He had to get things set up. There was no telling just how soon the boss would be showing up in Wasco. ------- Chapter 3: River Run Paul's job was simple, really. Inspect the Pride's waterline before and after each trip. Look for signs of damage, wear, rust, fresh water barnacles or mussels, and report the same to the ship's engineer. The ability to dry dock the ships that made up the Columbia steamship fleet was limited, and the number of men who could work on the steel hull without making things worse was even more limited. The people who oversaw the fleet's operations took their responsibilities very seriously, and hired men like Paul to watch over the ships like sheepdogs to a flock of sheep. If you could imagine a flock where the sheepdogs outnumbered the sheep, that is. Paul had spotted something tangled near the nacelle for one of the forward bow thrusters and had put on his 'duck boots' as he liked to call the suit, to do a closer inspection. It was really a pair of rubber waders embedded in an inflated collar, but the suit let him float right at the water's surface while remaining upright and high enough out of the water to do the inspections. Sure enough, there was an old, frayed snarl of nylon rope caught in a flange on the thruster's housing. A dull blue piece thick as his thumb, stained by tar and oil from years of use. Paul struggled to clear it, but was quickly frustrated. He had a belt knife that he had looped around his neck for the inspection, and he had it out and cutting, but sharp as the knife was, it was slow going through the old, snarled knots of nylon, and the bits of rock and sand that had slowly infiltrated all the seams made it even tougher. Tough as cutting the rope was, slowly going over the housing, feeling for bits of rope with his hands in the cold water was worse. It took a long time with his face pressed against the river's surface before he was sure there was nothing left that could cause a problem. He slowly pulled himself back around the bow of the Pride, making for the shore beneath the dock where he could take the flotation collar off before trying to climb the ladder back up to the dock. As he came around the bow, he saw three dark figures in a small skiff pulled up close against the Pride's hull. The three, and their skiff, were barely visible in the darkness. Two of the figures were crouched over one of the side thruster's housing while the third knelt behind them, acting as a counterbalance for the skiff so the two could work over the side. "Hey!" Paul yelled at the top of his lungs. "What are you doing there?" The third man turned his way, and in the darkness, raised an arm and there was a loud ringing noise in Paul's ear. It took him a second to realize that the man had fired a gun at him! Paul turned towards the shore and began walking towards it, using his hands as oars to push him while the water was still too deep for his feet to touch the river bottom. A second shot rang out, sounding impossibly hollow and booming as it echoed in the confined space under the dock. Paul felt a flash of fire and heat in his left shoulder, and a shove that sent him momentarily underwater. His feet touched the river bottom now and he scuttled forward, taking rapid, small steps in his now sinking waders, the inflated collar collapsing quickly. 'They shot it!' he thought to himself, before the realization hit him that they had probably shot him as well. He surged forward, the water getting shallow enough now that he could put some push into it, and scrabbling to get hands and feet out of the water without the waders and the collar tangling him. There was a crease in the shoreline, a place where runoff from under the docks had washed out a little of the gravel and sand. Paul collapsed into it, onto his back, hoping the slight depression made him harder to hit, and struggled to get the waders and collar off. His efforts made the throbbing pain in his shoulder turn into a grinding agony, and as the edges of the world started to grow fuzzy, he pulled himself around to make sure he didn't fall back into the river. He passed out wondering if he would ever regain consciousness. "There's no doubt this was an attempt to set an explosive device of some kind on the Pride," the engineer said. "We found a pound of an old military explosive, the waterproof kind from before the Reaping. We didn't find any sort of fuse or detonation device, and none of what we did find was actually attached to the hull." "You think it was dropped or abandoned in the attempt to escape? "I do. I would guess that they would have used some sort of waterproof fixative, like that new flash glue, or epoxy. The super glue — cyanoacrylate, or some such compound if I remember rightly, was much faster acting than even the best epoxies would be." "The Pride has a steel hull," Dante Arellano observed. "Couldn't they have just used magnets, and weren't those sort of things pretty common in the old UOD?" "Yes, of course, and they still are," Lieutenant Colmes answered. "The UOD is the only place in the region where such things are still kept, and they are carefully controlled and accounted for." "Perhaps someone has managed to swap some explosives for some clay or another material that would fool a casual inspection?" Dante suggested. The lieutenant nodded his head. "Sneak the explosives out, but leave the package behind? We'll have to do a careful inventory and see." "If something turns up missing, then you will have to check everything," the engineer warned. "It will mean that there's someone working for the Denied inside the military, and inside the UOD." "Okay then, Lieutenant Colmes, you get word sent to someone up the chain of command, high up the chain. Someone we can trust. Have them begin that inspection. Have them sort through the logs and duty reports too, see if we can find a pattern that makes sense, now that we've got something to look for." "Yes sir," the Lieutenant saluted, forgetting for the moment that Inspector Arellano was not a superior officer. Dante waited for the lieutenant to leave before turning to the engineer. "Mr. Horst, we'll want you to do a little research too. See if its possible for this stuff to be duplicated anywhere in Columbia or anywhere within reasonable travel distances. Many of the old roads beyond those we maintain are still in good enough shape to make trips outside of our borders possible." "Of course, I'll get right on it. Do I have authorization from the Council to draw on the resources I'll need?" "You have permission to draw on any resources at the university you need. If there are military or council resources you need, you'll have to clear those with me, or someone on the council." A nod and a handshake later, the engineer was gone too, leaving Dante with his 'aide', Forrest Samuelson, and Huck Scales, who had joined them as soon as he'd heard of the discovery. "Huck, I don't suppose you want to leave the twins long enough to run an errand for me, do you?" Dante asked. "No, and especially not now," Huck answered in his quiet, deep voice. "There will be a contingency plan, in case this one failed, as it has, and I would guess it should get sprung pretty soon after they leave here." "I agree, dammit, and I really need to send someone I can trust on an errand for me. Do you know anyone local you trust?" "Hmm ... yeah, someone you would trust, but not someone I know personally. Cooper Wilson is one of the local members of the communications guild. He's Wade Wilson's grandson, and a friend of the Kendall clan. I would trust him." "A lot of sense in that pick, I assume he's going to be working out of the guild offices up on the hill?" "Should be," Huck said with a nod. "I'll send a runner up to fetch him." "Nah, you get back to your twins. Forrest and I'll head up there ourselves. There 's nothing else to do here anyway, other than double checking the Pride one more time, and her crew is going over her with a fine toothed comb right now." The communications guild had grown out of the efforts of the original survivors to keep communications capabilities as close to pre-Reaping times as possible. This meant maintaining radio and television technology, and the knowledge and skills required to do so. As with a lot of the specialized but vital skills the survivors required, a guild system had evolved over time, allowing the skills to be taught and supervised by a close-knit group whose only loyalty was to the council and to the guild itself. So far it had worked well, and fit the slower moving pace of life along the river since the Reaping. Here in Cascade Locks, the guild's office butted up against the canyon wall on what would have been the Oregon side of the river back in the old days. Conveniently, it also guarded the large buried cable that ran to the transmission tower high above the river on the rim of the gorge. A guild applicant took their horses at the gates of the offices, and a guildsman, a junior technician of some sort, escorted them to the offices, where they waited for word to be sent to Cooper Wilson. It took only a quick initial glance at his flaming red hair for Dante to realize that he had indeed met Cooper Wilson before, but it had been years earlier, when they had both been young boys. "Inspector," Cooper said as they shook hands. "Senior," Dante replied, using the address most commonly used for senior guildsmen whose official titles were unknown. "Call me Cooper." "And call me Dante," he replied. "I hadn't remembered it until I saw you as you came in, but I realized we had met before, when we were boys." "Had we?" Cooper asked, thinking back over the years. "Yes, it was at Pip Kendall's first birthday party, back at the old Porter horse ranch." "Oh yes! I remember now. We were with a group of kids who were pissed because we were too young for the adult meetings, and too old to be interested in the 'baby party'. We were a collective pain In the ass for a few folks that day, if I remember it correctly." "I think you are remembering it very correctly, and Wendy Michaels, was it? Wendy would certainly remember what a bunch of little shits we were that day." "She would, she does, and she has actually forgiven me for it since then. I'm sure you're forgiven too." The two men laughed over this surprising common recollection, but eventually Dante returned to a more serious demeanor and asked, "is there somewhere we can talk privately?" "Sure, let me show you to my office," Cooper said, guiding the two men with a gesture back into the rear of the building. "Owen, fetch us all some coffee would you?" Once the three of them were seated comfortably in the office, coffee in hand and the door closed, Cooper Wilson put his hands on his desk, folded neatly together and leaned forward. "Now gentlemen, what is it you would ask that requires privacy within my guild house?" "I need a favor, and it is one that requires more than a casual amount of trust. Huck Scales had suggested you, because you are close to the Kendall clan, as I am." "Tell me what you would have of me." "Less than an hour ago, it was determined by a council engineer, in agreement with Lieutenant Colmes and I, an investigator from the PMR, that the ruckus at the docks this morning was an attempt to plant an explosive device on the hull of the Pride." "Really!" the Guildsman said in surprise. "Yes, and based on evidence on hand, the explosives were of a type that would almost have to come from the UOD bunkers. I have dispatched Lieutenant Colmes back to his superiors with a request to have an investigation and inventory done to determine if this is true or not." The three men sat in silence for a moment, as the Guild Senior digested the information. Finally he nodded, rubbing his palms over his eyes as if they were tired. "You don't know if you can trust Lieutenant Colmes, or whatever superiors might be in his chain of command. If the explosives were indeed stolen from the depot, then that means an inside job ... You want me to personally deliver this information to someone within the UOD command that we can all agree is trustworthy, both to ensure the message is passed along, and in the hopes of catching whatever turncoats the Denied have planted within the military." "It would be an unexpected and impossible turn of fortune to think that we would catch all the plants, but if we can get the ones who are in the depot, I would feel a lot safer." "Very well, I'll leave immediately. Do you have someone you would prefer I report to at the depot?" "If he is there, I would report directly to Captain Thoreson. Otherwise, I would hope you could meet with either Peter Osterhaus or Dave Porter. Peter should certainly be there, he is the Captain's adjutant in charge of depot security, and he will be the man to implement any actions that will need to be taken." "I sure hope your security is better than the military version has been, and that you don't have Denied believers planted in your midst." "Oh, we do have our plants, but we keep a close eye on them, and all they hear is what we want them to," Cooper said with a grin. "How quickly can you leave?" Dante asked. "Within the hour, and I should have a good advantage on the Lieutenant. Do you know what an ultralight is, Dante?" "Some sort of glider, isn't it?" "Its actually a powered aircraft, but built along the lines of a hang glider, and can actually be operated as one if the engine dies for whatever reason." "Interesting, but are you saying you have one of these contraptions then?" "I am, and I am widely known as a bit of a nut for flying it whenever I get a mind to, so in a little bit, I'll make the climb up the canyon wall to where I keep it, and I'll be airborne and headed for Umatilla as the crow flies." "Good, I'll leave this in your capable hands." With that the two men headed for the door, but Dante turned before closing it behind him. "It was good seeing you again Cooper. I think you've made too much of a stranger of yourself, trying to appear neutral. You should attend a few more of the get-togethers the old Cold Lake families have. Certainly you would do well to come to Greer a little more often. You're missing out on some things, I think." "I suspect you're right, Dante, thank you, I'll keep that in mind." ------- Chapter 4: The Eyes Have It The Pride docked at Boardman, unleashing a tide of chaos that swept onto the dock and into the terminal. Sam and Jenna, managed to avoid most of the chaos, keeping their horses away from the terminal until the majority of the unloading and loading had been done. By the time they decided they could board, the confusion in the terminal had faded into barely discernible bundles of chaos. It was possible that some of those people would be making their way to Echo Point, or as Jenna suspected, for Greer. "Looks like a lot of people are headed towards Greer today," Sam announced, as if reading the words straight out of her thoughts. "Oh ... looks like, yeah," Jenna said, startled a bit at the eeriness of Sam's timing. "We've got tickets to The Dalles, but we'll be getting off in Biggs," Sam announced. "We'll take the old highway 97 up out of the canyons straight into Wasco." Jenna nodded. What he proposed made sense. Even with the delay it was an early morning departure for the Pride, and both Sam and Jenna took the opportunity to get in a quick nap as the ferry worked its way down river. Sam rapped on the door to Jenna's cabin in time for them to get to the dining room for lunch. They were barely into the room when they discovered Becky and Tom Kendall sitting at a table near the door ordering their own lunch. "Becky, Tom, how you doing?" Sam asked as they approached. "Fine Sam, Hi there Jenna. What brings you two aboard the pride?" Tom asked. "Oh just got something to do downriver," Sam answered. "Funny, me and Tom do too," Becky added. "Wonder if it's the same something?" "May be, I suppose," Sam admitted. "We've got tickets to The Dalles, how about you two?" Tom grinned, motioning the pair to have a seat. "Nope, We bought tickets all the way to Portland." "I suspect you two won't see Portland any more than Sam or I will see The Dalles," Jenna said, taking a seat. The waitress came, and Sam and Jenna added their order to Becky and Tom's. Once the waitress was gone, the four of them looked each other over a bit before Jenna observed, "Perhaps this isn't the place to be having this conversation." "You're right, I'm sure," Sam agreed. "In fact, the way things are going, I don't think we need to have any kind of conversation. We'll see you two when and where we'll see you, right?" "Sounds good," Becky admitted. The foursome engaged themselves in their tea, and chatter about the families, and once their meals had arrived, continued to speak of everyday topics and the sort of things relatives told each other when they hadn't seen each other in a while. Sam in particular was interested in what the Kendall twins had been doing in the 'Upper Palouse' as they called it." By the time the Pride pulled into Arlington, it was late, and neither pair stirred at the sounds of the few people getting off or on at this stop. The passage through the locks at the John Day Dam, and the subsequent docking at Rufus happened in the wee hours of the morning, but they were all awake in time to each make their way to the lower decks and have their horses and gear ready by the time they docked in Biggs an hour later. Biggs might have become a ghost town like most had, except that it sat across the river from the route up Davies Pass that led to Goldendale. Goldendale was still an important hub for the agricultural efforts in that part of Columbia, and the route to the river, and to transportation for the wheat which was still, or at least again, the regions main export, was vital. No one had spoken, or hinted at their actions, but the four young people found themselves on the dock well before dawn, with their horses saddled. "We've got a couple hours before it's light enough to ride on up Spanish Hollow. We should probably see if we can find breakfast somewhere before we start out." "Good idea, Tom, any suggestions?" "Seems like the terminal office is the only place showing any signs of activity. Maybe we can ask there?" Jenna offered. At the ferry terminal they learned that there was a place called the Water Jacket, where they could get breakfast. It was a block downriver. "You folks waiting to meet someone coming in on the Beckett?" "The Beckett's due in?" Becky asked. "Yup, this is about midpoint for the two runs, so four days out of seven the upriver route and the downriver route just miss meeting here. We schedule em to miss, to be honest. Biggs isn't big enough to handle two ferries at the same time." "Maybe we should come back in an hour and see who gets off?" Sam suggested. "Sounds like a good idea," Becky answered. "Now lets go get some grub, I"m starved!" -oOo- By the time Pip and Lily caught up to the twins, the confusion back at the dock had condensed into more discernible bundles of chaos. It was possible that some of those people would be making their way to Goldendale, but it appeared that most of the knots of chaos were headed aboard the Beckett, not away, so Taegan suspected that there were a lot of people headed upriver today. "Looks like a lot of people are headed upriver today." "And a surprising number who are headed elsewhere," came a voice from behind them. The four of them turned to see a group of familiar faces. "Jenna, what are you doing here?" Taegan said when he realized it was Jenna's eyes he was staring into. "We seem to be headed someplace we have agreed not to discuss. I take it you four are as well?" "Officially?" Pip said, looking around for other ears. "Officially, we'll talk about it more once we're on the road, unless we see fellow travelers we don't recognize. If that's the case then I think we just keep going until dark and we can talk more when we stop for the night. We've got some twenty kilometers of canyon to ride through, so I expect we'll be stopping before we've made it through." Lily roller her eyes and shook her head. "Twenty kilometers, up-canyon in a day? We'll be overnighting somewhere all right." "I suspect you're right as well," Jenna said, "I should be saying never underestimate what a Porter can do on horseback, but even with that said, 20 kilometers would be difficult to achieve under these circumstances." "Especially with us Kendall's dragging you down?" Lily asked, getting a laugh from everyone. "This would've been considered a pretty short trip in Grandpa Kendall's time." Sam observed. "Huck, I assume the Cayuse have some knowledge of the route we're traveling, do you think you'll get any reports on the conditions ahead?" Conway asked. "I'm in no position to share those kind of details with any of you," Huck answered. "I'll share what I can, when I can." "We have to be careful here folks," Taegan added. "There are still ways of listening in on conversations remotely. Our gear could have been bugged while aboard the ferry without our knowing it. There are a lot of reasons to leave some things unsaid." "Sure, I understand," Conway said defensively. "But its not like I'm asking Huck to point out their positions to me or something." "I understand your interest Con, but Huck's not going to say more and you are as aware of anyone why, so lets concentrate on the road and get to where we're going safely." The route out of Biggs took old highway 97, running south and east up the canyon called Spanish Hollow. Compared to the extensive canyon system that followed the Deschutes River a few miles downriver of them, this one was minor, but it wasn't straight forward. The nine of them set a leisurely pace for the first few miles of the road, the part running up to the fork leading into Mud Hollow to the south; a few miles further on and it would fork due west into China Hollow, but they would ignore both forks, following the old highway. Once they were into the stretch between Mud and China Hollows they let the horses slowly stretch out to their normal road-eating pace. Even if they had spare horses to ride, which they did not, it would be pushing it to try and make the entire steep and twisting twenty kilometers in a single day. There was no reason they needed to, so they took their time avoiding working the horses any harder than necessary. Huck had the point, followed by Conway. Sam and Lily rode side-by-side following him, with Taegan and Jenna side-by-side following them. Pip rode drag, and it was his job to keep an eye on the road behind them for riders approaching from the rear. Huck, as usual, rode silently, within himself and whatever discipline kept his gaze moving across the terrain. Conway, for whatever reason, was content to ride in silence as well. Taegan and Jenna spoke softly to each other as they rode, and Jenna, with practiced ease, brought her horse close. Their conversation was done in whispers, interspersed with quick glances at one another. Taegan tore his eyes away from Jenna repeatedly, determined to do his part to keep an eye out for danger, but he found himself drawn back every time to her eyes and shy smile. Sam and Lily, riding behind them, spoke in more normal tones, and discussed the normal family business and news of the day. "Another couple of mild winters and another season of heavy rains is going to make it even harder," Sam was saying. "We just can't keep up." "We have the people who can do the work," Lily answered, "just not enough of them. Even with the reduced usage, the roads are beginning to succumb to erosion, and the effects of exposure." "Which makes them less reliable every day as transportation. We're doing more and more moving of goods by riverboat and mule train all the time because of it." "That's fine for now, but we can't afford to lose the skills required to repair the roads if we ever hope to build new ones, and our ability to reach the old cities away from the river grows weaker each year. We need to develop an alternative means of getting places beyond the horizon, or we'll spiral even further back than we're doing now." "We're not really spiraling anywhere, Lily," Sam said with a laugh. "At least not yet. We've made some conscious decisions, what would have probably been called 'green' decisions back in Grandpa Kendall's day, and those decisions would be seen as moving backwards if we did them because we had to." "But other than television and radio, where have we maintained our technological level? "Its not a matter of what levels we've retained," Sam said with a small sigh of frustration. "Your arguments sound like they've been built whole cloth out of a Church of the Denied sermon. We've retained all the technology we were capable of keeping after the Reaping. We've simply chosen not to implement all of it. Electric heat is cheap ... hell, its free as far as most people are concerned. Heating oil and coal are just too dirty to support when we have the hydro power available to us." "That's not exactly a fair example to use, is it?" Lily asked. "We were in a pretty unique position, when it comes to hydroelectric power. What about transportation? What about air travel?" "As far as transportation goes, again, its a matter of choice. We've developed the fuel we need to replace gasoline, we just can't afford to divert the resources to making it on a large enough scale. We have the people and the skills required for building and maintaining cars and trucks and other gasoline engine powered vehicles, and we are doing those things where its practical. As far as air travel goes, maintaining the industry at pre-Reaping levels is not practical because that kind of fuel is still pretty much too difficult to make in any usable quantity. So the aviation industry is one area where you might have a legitimate point, but once again, that's mostly a matter of choice. We've decided to put our efforts into other things." "You do that well," Lily said. "What?" "Speak with both passion and clarity of thought." "The passion comes easily," Sam answered with a laugh. "The clarity of thought comes from many nights alone with them, distilling them into something that allows me to make sense of them." "A mixed blessing, I know," Lily said with a sigh. Sam cocked his head, trying to fathom her meaning. Lily let a small Mona Lisa smile curve her lips slightly, looking down and away from Sam's eyes before adding, "nights alone, I mean." Once Lily was able to look up again, she saw a goofy grin on Sam's face and a twinkle in his eye. "I had not anticipated it being such a delicate dance, this conversation I think we're having, but it is one I have looked forward to," he said, suddenly serious again. "And I," Lily said. "I am usually pretty direct, but I am somehow lacking my usual confidence around you." "You shouldn't be," Sam said in a low voice. "Nothing could be more certain." "Heads up!" came the call from ahead. The party looked ahead of them and saw a group of three riders coming down the road towards them. The three men slowed as the approached, passing the group in single file. Each man nodded politely as they did, but their faces seemed masks of neutrality that belied the normal demeanor of strangers passing on a public road. The last man in particular, a bit heavy set, with jaws that seemed tightly clenched, seemed to have just bit into something bitter, by the expression he wore. The minute the three men were out of sight around behind them, Huck stopped on the road and signaled the others to gather around him. "I'm pretty sure the last man in the group that just passed us is one of the Denied," he told them. "They're after Lily and Pip!" Jenna blurted out. "This is a target rich environment," Huck said dryly, "bagging any one of us would give them something to celebrate. Its not just you Kendalls and Porters either, they would be very happy to get one of the Cayuse too. We have not made them happy in recent years." "Okay, time for a weapons check then. Huck, do you have an idea of a good defensive position in the vicinity?" Sam asked. "There are little washes and gullies all up and down these canyons. Anyone of them big enough to get the horses into will work, but we'll be cornering ourselves." "Well if I were the Denied, and this was a trap waiting to be sprung, I'd have men hidden in Mud Hollow as well as ahead of us in China Hollow, so they can trap us between them. I don't see us cornering ourselves more than we already are." "There was a deep looking wash we just passed that looked as good as any that we could try for." The seven of them rode back, hugging the cliff face to the south of them. The spot wasn't perfect, but had a decent cut into the hill, and the steep wash took a good sharp turn at the back, completely hiding the back of it from the highway. The mouth featured a loose assortment of jumbled rock and gravel. They checked it out as thoroughly as they could, making sure there were no ambushers waiting at the back of it. The rocks spilling out of the mouth of the wash weren't that big, but a few of them were large enough to provide cover. Huck arranged everyone as he wanted them. It hadn't been said, nor did it need saying, but all of them were armed with both pistol and rifle. With so little humanity left on Earth, the wildlife had been making a major comeback. Cougars, wolves and bears were becoming something you had to watch for anytime you were on the road. Add the Church of the Denied to that, and there was reason for always going armed. While the rest of the group was getting settled at the mouth of the wash, Jenna was trying to get the horses settled in the back of it. She eyed the steep slope of it with some curiosity. "Taegan, I need to explore this wash a little before things get too hairy. Keep an eye out for me, would you?" "Sure," he said, and then blinked at the brief kiss she gave him before moving again towards the back end of the small cut in the cliff. At the mouth of the wash, the sound of a good number of horses told everyone there that the trap had been truly sprung. "Stand and deliver!" came a rough voice from among the horsemen. "We are private citizens, traveling a public road," Huck hollered back. "We have nothing you would want." "Yes you do, Cayuse. Yes, you certainly do." "Then you know I will not give you what you want, and to take it, the price will be dear." "We have been denied once, fool. We cannot be denied again." "So be it," Huck said. "Come at your own peril then." Jenna followed a small seam of rock sprinkled with pebbles and sand. She worked her way back and up, her eyes scanning the side walls and the ground underfoot as she did, until finally she realized she was atop the cliff. She kept low, just in case, but it appeared she was far enough back from the cliff's edge to be safe from detection. She turned and began making her way down the seam of rock again, her eyes still working back and forth across the path, looking for danger. Sam Porter fired the first shot, just as Huck finished speaking, knocking one of the riders from his saddle. This brought the rest of the group into maddened action as they whirled about on horseback and dashed for the berm at the edge of the highway. A volley of return fire, from horseback as they turned, was loud but ineffective. The battle settled into a period of scattered firing, as the Churchmen, confident in their position, began testing their defenses. Amid the scattered random gunshots, Jenna arrived again at the bottom of the wash and grabbed her horse. "C'mon Rabbit, lets see if you'll climb a little hill for me," she whispered to the horse. "Don't waste your ammunition," Huck was telling those at the front of the wash. "Lily, I want you to keep an eye on the foot of the cliff to the east. Pip, you do the same to the one to the west. They'll send men there to try to give themselves a better angle of attack." A bullet pinged off the rock beside him, and Huck ducked slightly before looking around at the group near him. "Watch out!" Conway called. "Where's Jenna?" Huck asked. "She's tending the horses," Taegan called out. "She said she was going to check out the back of the wash too," he said with far less confidence. "Okay then, Taegan, if they rush us, its your job to keep anyone who reaches us from getting past us to the horses." "Got it," Taegan said with a nod. Fifteen minutes later the Denied made their first attempt at rushing them. They were met with withering fire from the six defenders, including Pip's twin pistols, which he used to great effect. As the attackers were pulling their wounded back behind the berm, Jenna was slowly coaxing her fourth horse up the almost non-existent track. She knew she'd have to stop and consult with Huck soon. There was a lot of yelling going on over behind the berm. Pip suspected that the leader of the Churchmen was firing up his men, getting them worked up for another rush. He thought he saw something move just at the edge of the cliff were he was supposed to be looking. "Huck, they've finally got people at the corners of the cliff, I think!" he hollered. "Here too!" Lily called out. "The rush up the middle will probably be a feint," Huck said in a low voice. "They'll try to distract us while they send groups in from the side. Conway, you and I will keep the group coming up the middle honest. Sam, you support Lily on the east. Taegan, you support Pip on the west." Before the attack could begin, Jenna appeared from the back of the wash, dusty and bent low as she came to where Huck was crouched. "Huck, if we were able to get up onto the cliff behind us, could we get anywhere from there?" Huck thought about it for a minute, closing his eyes to try and visualize the lay of the land in his head. "Yeah, I think if we follow the top of this ridge to the south and east, we should run into Mud Hollow Road again when the canyon flattens out. It doesn't meet up with the highway again, but it hits another road that cuts back east and gets us almost where we're going, I think." "Okay, be back in a bit," she said, and disappeared again into the wash before Huck could ask her what she was up to, pausing only long enough to kiss Taegan again as she passed him. "What does your girlfriend think shes doing back there?" Huck asked. "She's not my..." Taegan stopped, mid-sentence and then smiled. "I think she's finding us a way out of the trap." ------- Chapter 5: Hills Have Faces, They Do Not See There was another lull in activity after the last charge. This time a good number of the attackers had been hurt badly, particularly those who had tried to sneak along the canyon wall during the distraction. Again Pip's twin pistols wreaked havoc, this time on those who tried to come along the base of the cliff wall on his side. Conway had moved up alongside Huck, and from his vantage point they both could hear the sound of wounded men moaning and calling for aid. "It'll be a while before they try that again," Huck said. "I just hope they don't decide to try something more ... explosive." "Do you think they have any explosives?" Conway asked, with a slightly panicked tone. "I'd bet on it, but they won't use them until they get truly desperate. A dead Kendall is nowhere near as valuable to them as a live one." "Let's not leave them the option," came a quiet voice behind them. Both turned to see Jenna, returned again from the back of the wash. "What's up?" Huck asked, his hopes rising at Jenna's triumphant grin. "I've found us a way out of the back of the wash. We should start moving there one at a time." "You move everyone else through first. I'll stay here and you come get me when everyone else is out of danger." "Wait ten minutes and then move towards the back of the wash. I'll meet you there," Jenna offered. Huck nodded his head, and at that signal she grabbed Conway and moved him back towards the wash. Huck signaled the rest of them to follow her, and, sliding his rifle into a more comfortable position on the boulder between him and the ambushers, he waited. Jenna led the rest of them to the back of the wash. "What the hell did you do with the horses?" Taegan asked. "I didn't know you were a magician." "I'm not, they're up there," she said, pointing up the steep sided wash in front of them. "You're going there too, lets get moving. Everyone put your left hand on the shoulder in front of you and follow me." Halfway up, Lily muttered just loud enough for those around her to hear. "Christ! How the hell did you get horses to follow you up this?" All they heard from the front of the line was a small giggle, followed by the hushed command to keep their eyes on the feet in front of them and keep moving. Huck had made some harrowing ascents in his time, some of them while under fire. This wasn't one of them, but he still had to wonder how the girl had gotten the horses to climb this thin seam of rock without losing one of them. The Porters were known to be good with horses, but this was somewhere beyond that. When he got to the top, he was pleased to see that the rest of the group were already on horseback, and ready to go. "Okay folks," He said as soon as he was on his own mount. "Jenna's delivered us something of a miracle, but we've got very little time before those assholes figure out that something's going on. What we don't know is whether they'll spend any time trying to follow us up the wash, or if they'll anticipate where we're going and try to head us off. We can't afford to wait around to find out, so let's get moving." They moved at a walk at first, wanting to gain some distance from the cliff's edge before they ran the horses. Running horses make noise, distinctive, clue-giving noise. Once they had gotten a few hundred yards from their starting point, Huck let his horse pick up the pace. The memory he had in his head of the area told him they had a couple of miles to cover, perhaps a little more, before they would get to where they could hope to run into Mud Hollow Road. In the meantime, he only hoped the terrain was as promising as his memory suggested. ------- The Broken Wheel Inn was not the kind of place one would remark on, good or bad, after staying there. Its beds were clean, its staff efficient, its food adequate. Multnomah Falls behind it was something of an attraction, and people did enjoy walking back to view them close up, but mostly people stopped there because they found themselves getting caught by nightfall while traveling along the river. No man outside the elders of the Church of the Denied knew it was the Church's headquarters. Those who did learn of it, did not live long outside the embrace of the Church, but then some did not live long within it. The Right Reverend Thaddeus Marchand sat in his office on the top floor of the inn, listening to the shortwave radio behind his desk. As usual, the damned canyons kept the signals from coming in directly from where his Churchmen were operating, so he was forced to listen to a relayed accounting of the events. One of those damned Cayuse had apparently pulled off some sleight of hand and disappeared six or seven people and their horses up a wash in Spanish Hollow Canyon, managing to slip neatly out of a trap the reverend had organized in hopes of capturing a Kendall or two. The band of Churchmen had suffered heavy losses as well, attempting to rush the defensive position. Deaths and injuries were always hard to cover up and still maintain the covert aspects of the service of some of these men. Even now Elder Hobson rode to him to make his report. It would not do to let him go unpunished for his failure, but the man was a trusted Elder, the senior and deadliest of the church's enforcers and, normally, an efficient and effective leader of men. He would make the punishment something quick, but harsh. Something Hobson would know was not just for show. Hobson had to feel he had been outmaneuvered in a way that was impossible to anticipate, and punishing him for that would be counterproductive, but he must know as well that his trap had been poorly sprung, and he had let the prey anticipate and react to the danger ahead. Failing to take advantage of the information their Kendall traitor was feeding them was a sin, and since they risked exposing their source every time they acted on his information, it was a sin with serious consequences. ------- The road had been a typical service road. Dirt and loose gravel cut into the dust and grass of the high desert. The two canyons it crossed between the point where the riders had found it and its juncture with the east-west running road it ran into had been dicey, but manageable. Washouts and steep grades didn't combine for smooth traveling. That road lead to another north-south access road, but barely a half mile later, joined up with highway 97 again. Getting back on the highway and headed for Echo Point again had been a relief, but one dipped in a sense of trepidation. A band of men intent on doing them harm was still just down the highway a few miles. "Alright, decision time," Huck said once they stood atop the surface of highway 97 again. "We can go back to our original route here and take the highway cutoff all the way into Wasco, or we can keep following the main highway until it runs into 206, and follow that in." Huck looked them all in the eye, one after another as he spoke. "The main highway route will actually take longer and we'll be less likely to run into any help going that way. It should be safer though. The Church won't be looking for us there." "Safer is better," Conway offered. "A lack of Churchmen on it doesn't mean its safer," Taegan said after a moment of thought. "We know we've slipped the Church's trap, and more importantly, they know it. They'll have no surprise if they make further attempts to catch us, and we are too close to witnesses now to make extended operations safe for the Church. I think we'll be better off taking the cutoff." Even as the group rode south, the Churchmen were dispersing, filtering, in small groups, back through the canyons into Rufus, Biggs and the other small towns along the Columbia. ------- The first surprise came only two days after John's Cantor's arrival in Wasco. A string of three pack mules, led by a woman on yet another mule. "Hello there," she said with a grin, "might you be John Cantor?" "I am," John said, amazed that this person was here seeking him. For these mules to arrive only two days after he did meant they had to have already been on their way to Wasco before he had even been given his orders. The amazement over this seamless organization was quickly swept away by the sight of a young woman clad in riding leathers, with a knife at her belt and a rifle in a sling behind her saddle, riding the lead mule. He was distracted even more when the woman jumped down off the mule. The leathers she wore were tight-fitting, and more than suggested she had a fine figure. "Who might you be?" "I'm Birdie," she said, doffing her cap to reveal a cascade of wavy jet-black hair, "Birdie Gilead." "I wasn't expecting anyone quite this quickly," John admitted. "By design, I'd guess," Birdie said. "Keeps those Denied bastards guessing." "True enough. You want to get those mules unpacked?" "That I do. You got a place to feed and water them?" "There's a covered loading area out back of the building. I've got my horse there." "Sounds good. Packs go inside?" "Yup, are they heavy?" "The packs? Couple hundred pounds on each of them." "Lets get 'em unloaded. I'll buy ya a beer when were done." "Lord!" Birdie said with a grin. "Been in town all of ten minutes and some handsome stranger's offering to buy me beer. I'd have come to Wasco sooner if I'd a known it was like this!" Her wink and laugh afterwards should have made him feel more comfortable, but it didn't. He didn't have long to think about it though, as he was soon too busy learning how to unpack a mule. The unloading went quickly, it was only three mules, not counting Birdie's ride, which he learned was called 'Jeckle'. Jeckle only carried Birdie's gear and supplies. "He's fer ridin' not fer haulin'. Birdie said matter-of-fact-ly. The beer was good enough that he bought a second round, and by the time they'd finished that, it was time to be thinking about dinner. Ruth and Birdie together had proved to be all he could handle anyway, and John was glad to be able to get away from the double-barreled assault on his thought processes the two women had been engaged in. Though they were each making their assaults from very different directions. As they were walking back to the apartment above the co-op, it suddenly occurred to him that Birdie hadn't asked about lodging for herself. "Birdie, are you planning on staying at the apartment tonight, or do we need to find you someplace?" "Why John!" Birdie said, sliding up alongside him and slipping her arm through the crook of his. "I didn't come all this way to meet the infamous John Cantor just to get all shy at the last minute." 'Oh God!' John thought. He broke out into a sweat faster than he did a smile. But he did smile. ------- The two men had painted a familiar picture, riding up out of Arlington. A couple of old ranch hands heading for a job; their gear bundled behind their saddles and their rifles in their saddle holsters, ready for anything life threw at them. They looked at home in the saddle, as if they'd spent their lives there. A growing number of men were living exactly that lifestyle these days, though most of them were younger than these two. The pair followed old Oregon State highway 19 to Olex, and then continued on into Juniper Canyon, staying with the old highway for another three miles before taking the dirt road cutoff to Mikkalo. The road was isolated, and Mikkalo, like almost every town and city on Earth, was a ghost town. There was an old pickup truck, rusted out and sitting half-buried in a plot of high grass near the center of what would have been downtown Mikkalo. The truck had probably been there for fifty years before the Reaping, it looked that old. "I think this place was close to being a ghost town even before the Reaping," The taller of the two men said as they stopped to water their horses. "Yeah, it looks that way," agreed the shorter, older of the two. "Water your horse well. I don't think we'll find any water at all between here and Spring Hollow." The road out of Mikkalo started out smooth and flat, but within three or for miles things began to twist up some, and then got vertical in a hurry as they entered Hay Canyon. They followed Hay Canyon north and west, and a good four hours after leaving Mikkalo they stopped at Spring Hollow for the night. They could have kept on a few more hours, now that they had flat land to ride on at the bottom of the canyon, and they could have camped for the night where Hay Canyon met the John Day River, but there would be more wind, and more wildlife around the river. These days more wildlife meant more predators, and the predators had somehow gotten the idea that the remaining humans on Earth weren't quite so secure at the top of the food chain as they had once been. Each man took a watch and they slept in shifts through the night, undisturbed. Breakfast the next morning was leisurely, compared to some they'd known. They had camp biscuits and bacon and a pot of coffee from the world's ever-dwindling supply. An hour after first light saw them headed out of Spring Hollow and into the John Day river system and its canyons. The way was wider here, but more exposed. They hugged the flat land along the river whenever possible. The road itself had the occasional washout and landslide debris, making it less than reliable. Still, most places it was still in admirable shape, and particularly where the road escaped the canyon edges, it was pretty smooth going. The first couple of hours brought them through several long, winding twists of the canyon to a juncture with what they knew was Scott Canyon. The service road coming down out of that canyon had been a potential route as well. They could see the occasional animal at the river, and the sky was dotted now and then by a red-tailed hawk hugging the canyon walls, or an osprey doing lazy turns over the river. A familiar, complex strike from one bird drew both men's eye. "A Peregrine," the shorter man said, nodding towards the raptor. "Their strike can be a thing of beauty." "True," the taller man said. "They were an endangered species towards the end of my first life. Let's hope they fare better in this one." "Sam, you have to learn to stop doing that," Carlos said. "What?" "Reliving the mistakes of men who no longer exist." "We can learn from their mistakes." "We can, and we are, but here on this river, just you and I? That's no time for such thoughts. You deny yourself the joy of living life because you are buried hip-deep in your sense of responsibility for the people you have saved. Let yourself go. You can be responsible for them again when we get to Wasco." "Keep reminding me old friend," Sam said. "I try, but you're one of the few who can get my thoughts where they need to be focused. Keep it up." "Certainly, old friend," Carlos answered with a laugh and a lightened tone. "I may be a man of few words, but I'm not a reluctant speaker when there is a need. Especially if it is to whisper in the ear of a friend." The rest of the morning saw them make their way downriver, drawing near to McDonald about an hour before high noon. They decided to stop for an early lunch, sitting in the shade of an old church eating apples and raisins, washing them down with water from their canteens. The wide valley here was a beautiful place, and the grassy flatlands around the river, surrounded by the brown and orange canyon walls would have made a perfect picture postcard, if there was still a market for such things. "Sad, in a way, isn't it?" Sam said. "What's that?" Carlos asked. "All the beauty in the world and so few left to see it." "Few but growing, and this kind of beauty will last for generations to come, now that we've a chance to build a society aware of how easy it is to fuck it up." The ride up out of the canyon took a little more than ninety minutes, but they were up and on flat land again with most of the afternoon in front of them. They reached Emigrant Springs by two, and found even more of a ghost town than anything they'd seen previously. They didn't even slow down, deciding it was too early in the day to stop, and continued on to the town of Klondike, arriving in the early evening, close to supper time. "Might as well park it here for the night," Carlos suggested. "Yeah, no sense hitting Wasco after dark," Sam agreed. "Don't want to scare anyone." ------- Chapter 6: The Road to the Future Cooper Wilson's ultralight, as originally designed, could do about 130 miles between refuelings. It had been a single seater, but this modified version had a larger engine, tandem seats and a gas tank that was double the size of the original. The engine itself had been tinkered with considerably, making it run efficiently on the home-brewed fuel made from waste crops and rendered animal fats. It could still do 130 miles, 140 with a tail wind before refueling, and even offered a partial wraparound wind screen that kept the worst of the wind out of the pilot and passenger's faces. "I still can't believe you talked me into this," Dante Arellano yelled into Cooper's ear beside him. "You say that every time. You've got to be getting used to it by now," Cooper yelled back. The pair had made three hops so far. Pendleton to Pilot Rock, Pilot rock to Heppner, and Heppner to Condon. They had spent the night in Condon, topping off the tanks with the cached fuel Cooper knew would be there and lifted off for Kent midmorning. Cooper had wanted to have full daylight for this last stretch. It was the last, and the most dangerous of the legs. They crossed the John Day river at Chisholm Canyon with Wolf Mountain looming just south of them. Once they'd passed this point, they were back above relatively safe ground. One more small canyon, the tail end of Armstrong Canyon, and they were within eyeball range of Kent, what little of it there was. Cooper brought the ultralight to a smooth landing smack dab in the center of Dobie Point Road just as it turned into Kent's main street. He let the engine idle a moment without load before tripping the kill switch and shutting off the fuel. "Welcome to Kent," he announced, his voice seeming overly loud in the sudden silence. "Thank you for flying Air Wilson." "Very funny," Dante muttered as he climbed stiffly out of the aircraft. "Remind me again what we're doing in this ghost town?" Cooper asked. "Laying low and watching for anyone who looks suspicious," Dante said. Adding, after a long moment, "and waiting." ------- At Huck's direction, Taegan led their party into Wasco. It was late, but there was still plenty of daylight by the time they reached the Heart of Wasco's main street. "Seems to be pretty deserted," Conway sniggered. "We'll be met," Huck countered. "Met indeed," came a voice from behind them. All eight of them spun in their saddles, reaching for their guns. Only Huck's voice kept them from clearing leather. "About time John, I'd expected a warmer welcome." "Sorry, but there are two roads into town you know, and I can't quite watch both of them." "I suppose that's true," Huck dismounted and walked over to the younger man, and the pair exchanged a warm hug. "This is John Cantor, an associate of mine," Huck said. "He already knows who each of you are." "A pleasure meeting you all," John said. "Okay, who's the woman?" Huck asked. "That's Birdie. I should have known you would spot her. Come on out Birdie, no sense staying hid." A lovely woman dressed in fringed leathers came walking from between two buildings across the street from where John Cantor had been standing. She walked over and slid comfortably alongside John, hip to hip. "Everyone, this is Birdie Gilead," John said. "Have you all had breakfast?" The question was met by a collective nod from the group. "Alright, how about we head over to the warehouse and get some tea then. We can make some better introductions and maybe figure out what we're all doing here." "I don't think we'll have long to wait," Pip said, pointing towards the opposite end of main street. "Look!" Two men on horseback were riding slowly down the street towards them. "Its Dad and Carlos Arellano!" Pip cried out, jogging his horse into a trot towards the approaching pair. "A gathering of kith and kin, it would seem," Taegan observed to Jenna. Those gathered made introductions, and generally caught up on things. They spoke of life, births and deaths, horses and houses, crops and fish. The family-type news out of the way, the questions turned to the ambush, and the details. Jenna's miraculous route up out of the wash that freed them from the trap received particular mention, and Jenna was quick to dismiss her efforts as just a little hard work and a good eye. "Don't forget an uncanny knack with horses," Taegan said. "How she kept those horses calm going up that seam of rock I'll never know." "The question I have about the ambush is, how was it even possible?" Sam Porter asked. "Who knew where we were going, and when? Hell, we hadn't even discussed it among ourselves in public." "That's a mystery we'll have to solve in the morning. Its getting late and I need some sleep. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know." "Sure Grandpa, looks like there's plenty of room to bunk down in the warehouse. I don't suppose the plumbing works?" "Sure does," Birdie answered. "There's folks using this town, and even a local character or two," John added. "They've kept things running as best they could, and the water, sewer and electricity are all in good shape, though a lot of the older houses are starting to fall down, just from neglect and weather." "Well, lets hit the sack. Someone gonna offer to make breakfast in the morning?" "I will," Lily offered. "You like pancakes Grandpa?" "Sure do, thanks sweetheart." Taegan woke in the middle of the night, Jenna pressed firmly against his side, very aware of having a pleasingly soft and warm breast cupped in his hand. Because he was awake, and because of what filled his hand, his senses were very much fully on. Perhaps that was why he sensed movement in the rear of the building. That couldn't explain why he felt compelled to rise and follow. Jenna felt his movement, the loss of his hand on her, and rose to follow Taegan in turn. The high windows in the back of the room let enough moonlight in that a figure could be seen slipping out the rear door. This was where everyone's boots and gear had been hung for the night, so Taegan had no problem finding his boots, coat and gun belt, but he decided to leave the boots. He had been sleeping with his boot liners on, and thought they would offer enough protection while being much quieter than his boots. The figure ahead of them moved towards the horses and this gave Taegan a moment to whisper hurriedly to Jenna. "I don't know who that is, but something isn't right. Follow me, but stay as far back as you can without loosing sight of me. This could be dangerous." Afraid of loosing the shadowy figure, Taegan didn't wait for a reply, but padded softly after the disappearing figure. He moved quietly among the horses, not raising even a soft snort from them. 'It looks like he's stealing something from Conway's pack, ' Taegan thought to himself, but barely had time for the thought to express itself before he was moving again as the shadowy figure moved beyond the covered loading area where the animals were sheltered and out into the dust and scrub covered field behind it. Once out from the shadow of the buildings the high moonlight lit the figure more brightly, and with a sudden shock, Taegan realized it was Conway. Conway moved further away from the co-op building, until it was no longer in sight before opening the bundle he had brought with him. A moment's fiddling brought a bright red dot of light to life on the surface of it, and Taegan, with a sudden wash of ice cold anger, realized what it was that his twin brother held. A radio transmitter! Stepping out of the shadows with his gun drawn, he called out with cold rage evident in his voice. "Set it down on the ground, Con. Set it down and step away." The look in Conway's eyes, the haunted, hurt look was familiar, but the reason for it was so foreign that Taegan couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. "Tag! You were supposed to be asleep. You were always a heavy sleeper," Con said softly. "Times change I guess," Taegan answered. "And don't bother using my old nickname, this isn't about us being brothers." "Oh, but it is," Con answered. "Its always been about us being brothers, and about you being the one people accepted easily and me being the one who had to struggle for the same things." "Maybe so, but you still haven't done what I asked. Set the radio on the ground and step back from it." "I'm too far along in this to give it up now, brother," Con said firmly. "If you want to stop the game, you're going to have to shoot me." Having said that, Conway went for his gun, and Taegan's momentary hesitation might have been enough, if he hadn't already had his own gun drawn. His shot rang out before Con's weapon could come up high enough to be a danger, the bullet from Con's gun going into the hard-packed dirt between them. Taegan's bullet hit Conway in the arm. "Ahh!" Con cried, spinning as he was hit, the radio flying one way and Con another. Con staggered and caught himself, and fled into the darkness. "Taegan!" Jenna called from the darkness as the sound of the shots were fading. "Stay back!" he called. Before Jenna could respond another shot rang out from the darkness in front of them where Conway had disappeared, followed quickly by two more in rapid succession. "Stay here, take this," Taegan said as Jenna appeared, despite his warning. He handed her the radio that had fallen from his brother's hand and disappeared into the night. He'd run barely twenty feet when he found Carlos sitting cross-legged on the ground. "Come easy Taegan," Carlos said to him as he came towards him. "You alright?" "Yup, got winged a little in the calf is all." "What happened?" "I tried to be a little too fancy and shoot his hand. I missed, he shot, winged me and I fired back. Don't know if I hit him or not because I finished falling down right after, but he took off on foot to the northwest while I was scrambling around in the dirt here." Taegan started to head in that direction, but Carlos stopped him. "We don't know if he's got support waiting for him out there or not. He could have been coming out here tonight to call in a band of attackers. You've winged him. If I did too then we'll have a good trail of blood to follow in the morning. Help me up." Taegan gave the older man an arm up, and together they walked back towards the co-op. Carlos didn't need any help walking, but did have a slight limp to his normally smooth gait. Jenna was where Taegan had left her, and had been joined by the rest of them, except for Sam Kendall and Huck Scales. "Where's Grandpa?" Taegan asked. "Him and Ghost are back keeping an eye on our backsides while were busy out here," Birdie told him, with a nod back the way they'd all come. "Ghost?" Pip asked. "John," Birdie replied. "I call him that sometimes because he walks so silent like." "We'd better get back there too. Even if there's no attack, the gunfire is going to have the neighbors curious, and maybe before daylight," Sam said. The next day was spent in and out of Ruth Brewer's bar, once they'd tracked Conway's tracks and found them meeting up with a mounted group. Some of the neighbors had come in wanting to know what all the commotion had been about the night before, and the bar seemed the logical place to meet with them. Ruth opened early for that purpose, and the group, now grown to eleven, when they weren't busy repacking their supplies and equipment onto Birdie's mules and their horses, met with several families. These people were farmers, but they weren't simple. Most of them recognized Sam, and when they heard that it had been an attempt to betray him, probably to the Church of the Denied, there were a lot of nods. "We've been approached by Churchmen, looking for converts, but they've found no fertile ground here on which to cast their poison seed," one of the elderly farmers said. "Be careful of them if they come again," Carlos replied. "They are quick to try violence when their brand of reason doesn't work." "You're leaving?" an old woman asked. "By midday," Sam affirmed. "To stay longer would draw more trouble. You don't need it and we don't want to see it come." "When they come looking, we will tell them you went east," the old woman offered, "and we will clear your tracks from the highway south for a while, so they won't be able to track you." "You seem confident that we're going south," Sam said. "I saw it in a dream. You will meet others along the way who are waiting for you." "Did your dream tell you if they were friend or foe?" "It was not my dream I saw it in, so I cannot say, but you will sleep with one eye open from now until then, so it doesn't matter." "No, I expect you're right," Sam said, shaking his head. ------- Chapter 7: Dust and Dreams They took the road south out of Wasco and a mile later it met highway 97. The highway was in decent shape, but there were drifts of blown sand and dust here and there as they rode down the length of it. The sand piles were treated with caution. Something had to have caused the sand to collect there, one thing that could have done it was a break in the pavement. Something none of them wanted their horses or mules to discover. Their route was fairly straight and exposed for the first four or five miles, but by mid-afternoon though they were descending down into Gordon Hollow and the ghost town of DeMoss Springs. They didn't stop, barely even slowed to see what was there, but from here the road was again nestled within gentle canyon slopes and slightly less exposed. The highway also curved west some until they were headed more southwest than true south. It was another four miles to Moro, and the group broke up into small clusters, not separated by more than a couple horse lengths except for Huck Scales who was riding a scouting point to their formation, staying a good half mile in front of the rest of them, looking for trouble. John Cantor rode sweep, keeping an experienced eye and ear trained on their rear for any pursuers. Taegan rode with Jenna and Birdie. The two women were making honest efforts to comfort Taegan, who was having a hard time dealing with his twin's betrayal. "Brother or not, twin or not," Birdie said to him, "no man should shoulder the guilt for another man's actions." "Nor the blame," Jenna added. "He told me I was the reason he chose the Denied," Taegan reminded them. "Because he was jealous?" Jenna spat. "Another man's jealousy is never your fault!" "Brothers have been gettin' jealous of each other since Cain and Abel," Birdie reminded him. "You're no extreme case." "You're no case at all," Jenna said. "What have you done, that hasn't included him? What would make him so jealous?" "Other than winning your heart?" Taegan asked. From behind her blush, Jenna argued, "that's too recent, it couldn't be the root of it." "True, but I enjoyed saying it," Taegan said, blushing himself. "He said he always felt things were easier for me, that people accepted me more readily. I don't know if that's true or not. I always saw us as a package deal." "No, it was true," Jenna confessed. "You were always the bright, happy brother. You were always more approachable. Conway was always more serious. The brooding one." "I dread telling my parents." "I..." Birdie started to say, then stopped, shaking her head. "What?" Taegan and Jenna asked together. "Its not my place to say, really, but my ghost man has a radio, and he had yer grandpa using it this mornin' in the wee hours. I think he was callin' t' home to pass the word along. Yer his eldest son's boy?" "Yeah, William Kendall is our father." "Ya might want to be practicin' saying my rather than our from now on, if Conway Kendall is t'be seen as a traitor to the people of Columbia," Birdie observed. "That's not going to be easy," Taegan said, growing close to tears again. "You're not alone in this, just remember that," Jenna said. ------- Able Hobson's back still stung from the lashing he had been given in the meeting room at the Broken Wheel. His ears stung worse from the tongue lashing the Reverend had given him in private. The public lashing had been less severe than it could have been. Able knew that the reverend was displeased, but didn't really blame him directly for their target's miraculous escape. The figure of Conway Kendall standing before him went a long way to soothe both stings, but the fact that the young fool had no idea where the Denier had planned for them to go caused another pain to rumble up from his gut. "You mean to say you were finally in a position to find out what the Denier's plans were, and you couldn't wait?" "I was afraid that we would be out of range if I waited, and I had his position, and he was with a small group, ripe for attack. How was I to know my damned brother would wake in the night and catch me?" Elder Hobson backhanded the boy then, slapping him backwards and almost into the campfire. He took three quick steps to where the young man lay in the dust and leaned over to yell into his face. "You were incautious! Such weak-minded behavior will not keep you alive long in our ranks, especially not with the name you carry, boy." "The Reverend wants me alive." "That he does," Elder Hobson said coldly, "and that is the only thing that is keeping you alive at this moment. Now get up and tell me again what you saw while you were together." The Elder held out a hand to the young man, pulling him to his feet. "Asa, bring the map. They're going somewhere, and they came here for a reason. We will figure this out." ------- Kent had proved to be a surprise for Cooper and Dante. The ghost town had been visited by someone, or someones, and they had left gifts. The most peculiar of which was the fifty caliber machine gun that had been mounted in the old church steeple. Almost as interesting was the stack of boxes they discovered filled with claymore mines. It appeared as if someone had begun preparing Kent to repulse an attack. Perhaps the same someone who had brought them there. There were several sacks filled with hand grenades beside the boxes of mines, and another pouch filled with what looked to be flares of some kind. "Sure would have been nice to have some idea of what we're supposed to do with all this stuff," Cooper muttered. "Someone will be by eventually, and then we'll know," Dante offered. "With that big gun in the tower and all these mines, maybe we should be checking the edges of town to see where the attacks are likely to come from. Someone is going to want to know where the best places are to put this stuff." "You're more likely than me to know where the best places are going to be to put this stuff," Cooper observed, "but scouting the entrances to town seems like a good idea. You're the expert." "Barely," Dante answered with a snort. "I may have Cayuse training, but we've both been through the same PMR basic training. We've got at least half a clue, right?" "Half a clue is better than none I guess, and maybe we can save some footwork for whoever shows up to use this stuff." ------- It was late afternoon when Huck led the group out of the low hills and into the flatter terrain surrounding Moro. It wasn't so late in the day that the setting sun was making silhouettes of the buildings in front of them, but they were riding mostly south-southwest, and the setting sun on their right shoulders did bring some glare. It wasn't the kind of disadvantage Huck was usually willing to put up with. If the situation were different, he'd have circled around the town to come in with the sun at his back. Huck stopped his horse's slow walk towards the small ghost town and sat there regarding the distant cluster of low buildings. "Not getting worried are you?" came Sam Kendall's voice from behind him. "Something about just riding in there doesn't feel right," Huck said, "but I can't pin down why I feel that way." "Its good to trust your instincts," Carlos said as he came up on the other side of him, "but you don't always know how to translate what those feelings are saying to you." "Your instincts are telling you there's someone there," Sam added. "They're waiting for us, its okay." As the group slowly gathered together at the outskirts of the town, John Cantor got their attention. "I haven't seen anything on our back trail, but I'm feeling kinda twitchy. I think there's someone following us, just enough to track us, but not keep us in sight." "We need to get into town then. We're going to have to rest a few hours and then travel again after dark." A few minutes later they were passing the first few buildings in Moro, when a whistle rang out from ahead of them. "Its okay boys, its Sam Kendall," Sam hollered out. "Prove it!" came the call back from somewhere ahead. "Matt? Mor? Is that you?" Taegan called back. "What are a couple of sissy-pants Argus boys doing out here in the dust and desolation?" The Steiner brothers came walking out then, big grins on their faces. "You're never going to let us forget that phrase are you?" Mor said. "You'd think the fact that we were only five when we said it would make a difference." "Where's Conway?" Matt asked. The cloud of darkness that washed over everyone's faces told him there was something to hear, but Carlos cut them off before they could get started. "Time for that while we're eating dinner. Show us where you're holed up. You'll hear the story then." Dinner was roast pork and chili. "The leftover chili was what we had planned to have, but the pork sorta fell into our laps," Matt said. "We had everything set up here, but couldn't find anything left in good enough shape to be willing to try and cook inside, so we built our fire in that old pit," Mor added. "We were just getting the chili pot going, rubbing the peppers on the inside of the pot and a pack of wild pigs came tearing through the middle of everything, all piss and vinegar and attitude," Matt continued. "I guess that pit had been one of the spots they liked to hunker down in. We aren't trail-trained enough to recognize the sign I guess, but while the pigs were all a-scatter, Matt managed to get a knife into one of the young ones." Roast pork and chili were fine indeed, and a lot of the pig fat and odds and ends had gone into the chili as it simmered, making a fine meal. Sam said as much once they were done. "That was a fine meal, and good fuel for what we're going to have to do tonight. Ghost here says he feels someone following us, so I don't want to stay here tonight." "Ghost?" Mor asked. "Crap, not you too!" John complained. "Sorry, guess I like it, and it suits you, in some ways," Sam said. "John got tagged with that by Birdie there recently. I guess its not settled in quite as much as I'd thought." "Only fair," Birdie said with a throaty laugh. "He's bin taggin' me pretty regular since I said I was interested." That broke up the group, and the laughter even brought Taegan out of the doldrums that retelling the story of Conway's betrayal had brought him back to. Brought him out Long enough to see Jenna giving him a look that suggested that 'taggin' was in his future. Maybe his immediate future. "Once it gets to full dark, we're going to head south. We're going to need to wrap the horse's shoes and wrap and tie down any gear that could make noise. The mules too. Birdie, any tricks you know to keep the mules quiet would be welcome. We'll build a big fire in the pit and Carlos will stay here for three hours after we leave to keep it going." "I'll slip out then and take the long way to Kent and meet you all there," Carlos told them. "What's in Kent?" Taegan asked. "More help and some firepower," Sam answered. "At least we'll have a full moon tonight, and clear skies. We should be able to see the road well enough to minimize the danger," Birdie said as she began heading towards the mules. So they slipped out of Moro under the cover of night. John Cantor had the lead this time, and Huck took the rear. Birdie had the mules tethered together, and oddly each had a wet sack laid over their muzzle. "The wet rag is their clue to be quiet," Birdie told them. "Can't have mules goin' through mountain passes who don't know to keep quiet fer fear of avalanches." That brought a chuckle to the group, but it was quickly muted by the sight of Carlos standing near the large fire, a wickedly efficient looking compound bow in his hand. "That scout that's been raising Ghost's hackles all the way here will intend to slip into town to see what's what before reporting back. I intend to keep him from making that report, and I mean to not disturb anyone doing it." The chuckles turned to grim smiles as they rode out. The moonlight lit their way, and the cement and steel swath across the landscape that was highway 97 soon bid them welcome as they made their way south. The distance between Moro and Grass Valley was about ten miles as the crow flies. Traveling at night, even with the full moon to light their way, this was a long and dangerous ride. At least the wind was at their backs. There was little chatter as they rode. Everyone's eyes and attentions were focused on the road in front of them and the potential pitfalls for their animals. They made Grass Valley two hours before daybreak and stopped only long enough to feed and water the animals, and themselves before pushing on. The run to Kent would be almost double that, but they would do most of it during daylight. To keep the horses healthy and the mules cooperative, they planned to stop for ten minutes every other hour and increase that as they needed. When they passed through Rosebush, two riders came out of the shadows of one of the derelict buildings. One of them was Dwight Scales. His riding partner was Owen Misera, one of the second generation Cayuse. "We left a little surprise for anyone who decides to use Lone Rock road to sneak up on us," Dwight said. "We've set a trip wire with a couple of claymores on each side of the road." "You'd better go back and watch the road then," Sam said. "We left Carlos back in Moro to create a diversion, and he's probably going to take that road." "How big a lead do you have on him?" Dwight asked. "At least three hours, but he would have stayed until first light if he had to, so it could be as much as five hours," Huck told them. "I'll ride back. Owen, you stay with the boss." None of them had even broken stride during this conversation, and it ended with Dwight wheeling his horse around and heading off to the north and east. An hour later they passed through Bourbon and out of the ruins of that ghost town another pair of riders came to meet them. This time it was Reggie Empereza and 'Tiger' Isturis. Tiger was one of the small number of people living who hadn't been an American citizen before the Reaping. Tiger and his wife Ingre were visitors to the world's fair who had decided to see the sights along the Columbia before returning home, and they had met the Kendalls along the river. Sam hadn't even known that a handshake would save them at that time. He had just been polite, and intrigued by their thick Finnish accent. It took yet another coincidence to keep the couple in the region, but Tiger's familiarity with fish ladders had brought him a job working out of Pasco. The job was interesting, the money was good and Ingre loved the river. When the Reaping finally came, they were still there. Tiger was a Finn, and a 'hardy Finn' as he loved to describe the people he remembered who were no more. He had proved to be a tough, able comrade in arms to the more local Cayuse. "Glad to be riding along side ya boss." "My pleasure Tiger, now lets get our asses into Kent," Sam said. "We have a battle to plan." ------- Chapter 8: Fire and Family There was a whistle out of the fading light. Dante recognized it and sent a responding whistle back into the twilight. A figure appeared out of the shadows following the exchange. A figure that resolved itself into a familiar face. "Huck, good to see you!" Dante said with relief. "I assume you've all made it then?" "Yup," Huck agreed. The rest of his group began to appear behind him. "Your dad will be coming later, and Dwight should be with him," Sam said as he rode up. "Who else is here so far?" "Cooper and I got here two days ago. Wick Peterson and Two-foot Jackson rode in this afternoon." "I've got Huck, John Cantor, Birdie Gilead, my son Pip and grandson Taegan, and granddaughter Lily, along with Sam and Jenna Porter and Matt and Mor Steiner. We picked up Tiger Isturis and Reggie Empereza on the ride in." Cooper Wilson was excited to see his cousin Lily, and pleased to see her sitting with Sam Porter. It was interesting to see Taegan and Jenna behaving like a couple, but the news of Conway made it hard to enjoy the observations. "We always knew we had a leak somewhere inside the family," Dante said when the news was revealed. "Still, I wouldn't have suspected Conway, and it must be torture for you Taegan." Taegan could only nod his head and look down. The comforting he got from Jenna and the echoes of sympathy from everyone else were quick and sincere. He looked up finally, and looked Dante in the eye. "You know I've always been interested in the Cayuse, and you've managed to let me nose around a little and keep me interested. I'd like to make it official and ask for a place." "We've always had a spot reserved for you Taegan," Dante told him. "It was always a matter of your asking. Consider it done." "No!" Sam Kendall said. "What?" half the group seemed to say at once in reaction. "No. I have other plans for Taegan, and for everyone here who's not already Cayuse. For the Cayuse too, but you can't undo being Cayuse." "What plans?" "Now's not the time to say," Sam admitted. "We need to reach the end of this journey and see what is revealed there before we can talk of those things. There are more who will join us before we get there. Just a few more." ------- "Mrs. Kendall, I'm sorry, but we just can't give you what you're asking for, and even if we could, I just don't see what purpose it would serve to grant your request." "You misunderstand the situation Guildmaster Curtis. I am not requesting the use of eight passenger cars." "You're not?" the confused transportation guild yardmaster asked, glancing down at the papers in front of him. "No sir, if you will read those papers a little more closely, you will see that I am requiring the guild to turn over the eight cars that my husband and his father loaned to the guild more than thirty years ago. Along with that, I am exercising the clause in the original contract that calls for the loan of a railroad engine. Perhaps you should avail yourself of a copy of that contract, sir. It makes for interesting reading." Of course both of them already knew what the contract stated. Perhaps the guildsman even knew it word for word as Greta did. The terms were plain, and the conditions not couched in complex language. "I shall have to study it," he suggested. "Perhaps if you come back in a week?" ""Come now, Paul. This is not the old United States. We don't bury our dealings in complex and confusing language that only lawyers can understand. A single reading of this document, one that a man in your position should already have made, tells you that I have the right to ask what I am asking, and you are required, by conditions the guild agreed to when it took on the contract, to honor my demands. I am not Sam Kendall, it is true. I am Mrs. Sam Kendall, and what I ask for is exactly what I am allowed to ask for. Nothing less and nothing more." The guild master stared back for a long moment without comment, but finally let out a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "What you say is true, and my wishing it were otherwise does not make it so. It will take two days for me to get eight cars ready." "You have a dozen empty cars in the yard behind us that have been cleaned and are ready to go. All that needs to be done is to remove the Guild markings on eight of them. I could do that with a paintbrush myself in two hours. Twenty minutes with a little help." "The paperwork will take several days." "This contract is the only paperwork I need. You do not need possession of the cars in order to complete your paperwork. I'll come for them tomorrow." "Fine, but we aren't likely to have an engine available until the middle of the week." "Ah! finally something we agree on. You are right, you would normally not have an engine available," Greta said with some glee while pulling another document from the folder she carried. "However this document from the Portland Military Reserve releases their reserve engine to our care and allows you four days to replace it." The guild master sputtered and fumed and made a few phone calls, but Greta and her Cayuse bodyguard walked out with the proper forms signed. "That seemed to be a whole lot of sound and fury signifying nothing," Ray Jackson muttered. "Why did he even bother?" "When you've inherited a promise you never thought you'd have to deliver on, it can be kind of hard to let go of your attitude, I guess. Besides, he didn't know about our deal with the general for the engine. That blind-sided him pretty good, don't you think?" "That it did," Ray answered. "I don't suppose you can tell me what we're going to do with them now that we have them?" "Not yet. But soon." ------- The scout's failure to report in had worried Elder Hobson. He'd assumed the worst and sent another man to scout Moro. This man failed to return as well, and by first light the Elder decided he was done wasting time. "Mount up," he told the brethren. "Kendall, you ride at my side and nowhere else, understand?" "Yes," Conway said sullenly. The two dozen men came riding into Moro at full gallop and with guns drawn. All they found was a fire pit and the bodies of their two scouts. The Elder sent teams of two men through the town looking for signs of the Kendall group, but he knew they'd find little, if anything. "There must be wild pigs of some kind in the area," Brother Pendergrast said after examining the fire pit. "They appeared to have supped on roast pork last night, and Karl and Sid look to have been left out for the swine to find." "We didn't hear any gunfire last night, so how did our brothers die?" "I'd say they were hit with arrows. Steel-tipped heads, designed for maximum damage. Both shots were straight to the heart." "Cayuse," Elder Hobson spat. "Find their trail Wyatt, we ride as soon as we know where they've gone. Ten minutes later, he had the report. Their were lots of tracks heading south towards highway 97, but they died out after a quarter mile. There were some small sign of tracks on the Lone Rock service road. "Where does it go?" "It meanders a bit more, but taking that road would still put them in Grass Valley or Kent further south," someone crouched over their maps answered. "Wyatt, take four men and follow this road, just in case they're thinking they can wait a while down this road and then double back. We'll head south on highway 97." The five Denied riders cursed the dust and the road and, as always, Sam Kendall as they rode down Lone Rock road. They had old man Murphy scouting up front of them a good half mile. Once they were out of the small canyon the road dipped into as soon as it left Moro, they stopped worrying too much about their side trail. There wasn't enough cover to hide a group. Riding out of their camp at first light had left most of the men's stomachs grumbling, so they gnawed on jerky or ate whatever they had handy in their saddle bags. Whistler Peavey broke out his harmonica and blew out the same opening notes he usually did when sitting around the camp fire. "Whistler, put it away," Wyatt spat. "That kind of sound carries." "Yes sir," the rider said with some embarrassment. Wyatt wasn't an Elder, but he was a senior rider. Word of this would get back to the Elder. Three hours later they rode up onto Murphy in the middle of the road. Murphy's body rather. He had an arrow sticking out of him and his horse was nowhere to be seen. "What the hell?" one of the riders said. Wyatt Sandler looked around. There was nothing here that suggested ambush. There was no cover. He was about to motion someone to get Murphy's body out of the road when he noticed the mounds of sand beside the road. "Trap!" he called out. "Get back!" No sooner had he screamed the words and wheeled his horse than the world rose up in a burst of noise and force and sand, knocking him from his horse. The horse itself was down and Wyatt saw blood across the front of the beast. He focused on the scene in front of him and saw two of the riders down and not moving. Besides himself, only Whistler was up and moving. "Whistler, drop back!" The two men tried to move back away from the line of explosions but their way was blocked by two figures who slashed in, sand streaming off them like they'd just risen from the Earth itself. Wyatt went for his gun, but a flash of something in the morning light and a sudden heat at his throat kept him from finishing the draw. The last thing to register on his mind was the image of Whistler's harmonica flying past him, a slow, graceful arc of shiny metal across his consciousness, before that consciousness dimmed forever. Dwight Scales and Carlos Arellano rode away from the ambush with grim faces. This was the kind of fight the Cayuse trained for but hated. The band of Denied were five fewer now, but there was still a group headed south and their hate was still firmly pointed at Sam Kendall who would be in harm's way. They were Cayuse. They would put themselves between Sam Kendall and harm. ------- The use of Cooper Wilson's ultralight for scouting purposes had been discussed, and it was considered risky. The small plane could fly high enough to remain above most small arms fire, but would be vulnerable to high caliber rifle fire. A fifty caliber machine gun would doom them. Cooper felt frustrated by the thought that he had flown his craft all this way only to leave it sitting on the ground when things got hot. "Cooper, you've had the basic PMR training, haven't you?" Lily asked. "Of course, we all have, haven't we?" "And you've had advanced training sponsored by the guild?" "Yes." "And you've spent your whole life hunting and fishing with your father and your grandfather?" "Sure, you know that. You were on some of those trips." "Then trust me, when the time comes, you will contribute," Lily offered with some sympathy. "I've been in exactly one more shootout than you have, and I feel like I'm able to hold my own, so will you." Two hours later, Becky and Tom Kendall, the last of the expected Cayuse outriders, arrived. The twins were another set of Sam Kendall's grandchildren. These through Celia Harwell's oldest son, Cyrus. Their route had been even more circuitous than the rest of the group, but they were the assurance that nothing would be waiting ahead of them. The twins reported that the road up from Bend was clear and in good shape, and they'd seen no riders. "We took the McKenzie highway route that you suggested Grandfather," Becky said over their lunch. "The road is in bad shape for vehicles, but it was fine for horse traffic, and there was little in the way of avalanche damage to have to bypass." "Besides, two of the experimental coffee growing stations are on that route," Tom added. "You'll be pleased to know that we've brought a few pounds of the latest crop with us for you to sample." "How about south of Bend?" Sam asked. "Any word on the roads heading south?" "I hear there were a few folks who went all the way to La Pine without any trouble, but I don't think anyone's reported back on anything south of there. If anyone's been south, they didn't think to stop at our facility to report it." An hour later Dwight and Carlos came riding in, grim-faced, but glad to see everyone had made it. Carlos shook his head and shrugged once they were all gathered together. "They sent a party of five down Lone Rock road. Probably they were worried we might double back from there once they'd moved on." "The old man had already found the trap Owen and I laid for any followers. Guess I should have known you can't catch him with a simple trip wire. With two of us there, the simple trip wire plan got changed a little." Carlos nodded at that."They'd sent a scout ahead of them about half a mile, so we took him down first and laid him on the road at the back end of the line of claymores." "Then we buried ourselves just outside the front end of the claymores. Carlos rigged up a hand trigger so he could set the mines off when he wanted. Worked perfectly too. They rode right up to the dead body." "They're not all idiots though, remember that!" Carlos spat. "The leader caught wind of something, and yelled a warning, but it was too late by then. I triggered the mines and they ripped through the whole group pretty fierce." "The horses took the brunt of it, the mines being laid low to the ground and to the sides of the road, but two of their riders bought it right then." "The leader and another man were still moving, but not for long." "They rode for Moro this morning without eating I'm sure," Sam said, without saying how he knew. "They'll stop in Grass Valley to eat and to feed and water their horses. It'll be evening at the earliest before they'll be in a position to attack, and then they'll have to decide whether they want to come in under the cover of night or attack with full light." "They think they have numbers because, except for Birdie and Ghost they don't yet know that you've been met along the way," Carlos added. "The group that ambushed you outside of Spanish hollow was about twenty men?" "That was about right I'd say," Huck answered. "Then if this is the same group, without reinforcements, it will have been twenty one with the addition of Conway. I took out two of them in Moro this morning and Dwight and I took out five more a few hours later. That leaves fourteen. Sam rode in with thirteen, Cooper and Dante made that fourteen and Becky and Tom make it sixteen. Dwight and I make it eighteen. Unless they were reinforced, we outnumber them." "And outgun them too," Dante added. "Did you see the cache of weapons here? There's a fifty caliber machine gun in the church steeple!" "And more of those mines," Cooper added. "Flares and hand grenades too." "The flares aren't the signal flare you're all familiar with. They're smoke flares. Lay them out in a line and they'll generate a pretty good smoke screen as long as the wind doesn't pick up." "Sam, where the hell did all this stuff come from, and how did it get here?" "Well it all came from the Umatilla Ordnance Depot, originally. As for how it got here, a lot of people have made a lot of small trips here over the last few months. Mostly Cayuse, but not all." "How did you coordinate all that without anyone else knowing is what I want to know," Dante said. "Oh, we'll definitely get into that, but not until we've gotten to the end of the journey we're on." ------- Chapter 9: Field of Fire Greta Kendall had brought in her staff from Echo Point, and three days after receiving them, the railroad cars had been completely readied to carry passengers. The eight cars joined the twelve other passenger cars that she already had, and as soon as the engine had arrived at the spur in Cold Lake, the gathering began. Members of the Kendall, Porter and Harwell clans, many members of the Argus, Cort, Osterhous and Mitchell clans as well. There were Ralstons and Wilsons, Warners and Thompsons. All the families who were part of the Kendall clan and those who had been friends before the reaping. Not all their members, but a few families from each at the minimum. Some were content to stay. Some were afraid to go. Some were unwilling, without more idea of where they would be going, to drop everything on Greta Kendall's say so and abandon everything they had except for a small bag of personal items. Those north of the river arrived with the engine. Many still lived in the are around Cold Lake and Hermiston. It still felt like home to many of them, and the land felt comfortable. The senior Kendalls still kept their home there, and they were the first among many families to find their places. People joined the train as it moved south along the river. At every stop the private train was met by family members and friends until the train was full. By the time it reached the Celilo railroad bridge, people were doubling up and squeezing together and cushions were being placed in the aisles. A good number of people boarded there, having come from further south on the river. The train switched tracks then and headed back upriver for a while, on the old SP&S Oregon trunk that curved into the Deschutes River valley and headed south through the heart of it. 'We certainly have gone forth and multiplied, ' Greta thought to herself as she moved from car to car trying to head off problems. Food was going to be one of them, one she hoped they would find had been anticipated further up the track. There were not a lot of Porter kin on the train. Oh, some to be sure. Greg and Hailey Michaels were aboard, and seemed to be glad to be there. Most of these folks were game and willing, but very, very unsure of exactly what was going on and what would be happening. 'Hell, ' she thought, 'I'm not that much more certain than they are.' Those who boarded at Celilo had brought food with them and it was shared with those who had been aboard most of the morning already. People settled in, kids were encouraged to find quiet games to play, some sang or played instruments. Some read, some slept. Greta finished her rounds and found her own spot to settle down. She closed her eyes and relaxed, her thoughts on her husband and the future. -oOo- The battle at Kent began at dinnertime. Sam and the rest of the Kendall group had eaten early, and half the Cayuse were already patrolling the perimeter. It was Ghost who spotted the first of the Denied scouts trying to sneak into town. As planned, the man's death was not a silent one. The gunshot signaled to both the Denied churchmen and the Kendall defenders that the battle was on. Owen Misera, in the church steeple spotted the charge, five minutes later. They had been reinforced. There were thirty men riding hard into town from the north and another twenty coming in from the west with the sun at their back. He didn't have a radio, but Pip was stationed beneath the church. Hand signals communicated the direction and the numbers, and once relayed, Pip was moving towards the west. There was still plenty of daylight, and there was no problem spotting targets. The western assault found Pip, Sam Porter and Lily joining Dante, Cooper, Huck and Reggie Empereza. To the north, Sam Kendall was joined by Dwight, Jenna, Taegan, Becky and Tom Kendall along with Birdie Gilead. The first assault saw both groups lay down a line of fire that quickly drove the hard riding attackers past them and into the center of the ghost town. From the north the riders came in on Horseshoe Bend, and from the east they hit on Dobie Point road. Where those two roads intersected was the center of town, and there stood the church in which Owen Misera waited, wielding fifty caliber finality. The churchmen came riding too hard and fast for those waiting for them to get off more than a few shots, but a few riders dropped as they passed. The return fire was fierce, but poorly aimed. Firing from a horse running full out was not accurate under the best of circumstances, and these were poor circumstances indeed. Horseshoe Bend Road did indeed have a bend in it after it entered town, and the riders on it quickly made the corner and were headed full out for the church. Dobie Road was straight, once it entered town, and as those riders came close to the church, Owen opened up with the fifty caliber. He swiped across the back ends of both sets of riders and sent them reeling. Horseshoe Road passed the church and hit an almost dead-end right turn into an alley immediately after. Dobie Road went straight back out of town towards Highway 97. Both groups made for the highway. Between the church and the highway, as they rode past a building with a faded 'Meyer's Market' sign above it, the riders were hit by crossfire from claymore mines set on both sides of the street. The mines had been packed behind bags of scrap metal and broken glass, and the shrapnel from the blast practically shredded half the men and horses. At the end of Dobie Road, within sight of the highway, they found a derelict car and Carlos Arellano with another machine gun resting on the hood. His fire stopped them cold and drove the remaining churchmen back. Fire from the fifty caliber at the church continued to walk up and down the road between and where it walked, churchmen died. Riders dove for cover in the buildings beside the road. On a small rise to the northeast, Elder Hobson sat his horse with Conway Kendall beside him, the younger man's horse hobbled and his hands tied. The two of them had heard the fifty caliber open up and saw the flashes from the center of town. That had been startling enough. When the claymores went off a few minutes later, the Elder had cursed loudly. "We appear to have underestimated their numbers and their resources here," he spat. "How could they have known to bring such weaponry with them?" "We didn't," a voice came from behind them. The Elder spun about and Conway turned as best he could to see who was there. It was John Cantor. "It was here waiting for us." "John!" he said in surprise. "Call me Ghost," John said. "Everyone else seems to have decided to call me that." "Ghost indeed," Hobson said, starting to draw his pistol. "Uh uh," Ghost said, lifting the barrel of his weapon. "Draw and you're dead." "Seems like I'm likely to be dead anyway," he said. "True enough, but I'm of a mind to let you climb down off that horse and grab your knife. We can settle this as warriors." "You've made a mistake there son," Elder Hobson said, climbing down off his horse and pulling a wicked looking blade from its sheath on his thigh. "I'm a pure devil with a knife in my hand." John 'Ghost' Cantor raised his weapon and shot the elder clean between the eyes. "No, you're just a devil, and this was the same choice and the same chance you gave Itchy Lopez five years ago you son of a bitch." Whether there was still life in the Elder's eyes, whether his ears had time to carry those words to a still living mind, Ghost didn't know, and he didn't care. He looked up into Conway Kendall's eyes. "You going to shoot me too?" Conway asked, his eyes already prepared for death. "No," Ghost answered, pulling the hobbles from the younger man's horse. he mounted the Elder's horse and took the reigns to the other, the firing in Kent had died out. "Brother's matter, and yours is waiting." Those words galvanized the younger man, and without a sound he dropped from his saddle on the far side of the horse. When he rose again, there was a gun in his hand, but Ghost had already drawn his own. Both men fired. Ghost's shot, as he too dropped from his saddle, and his second shot, fired under both horses, both found flesh. The second shot caught Conway Kendall in the knee and he collapsed in a heap. The first shot had torn clean through his left shoulder joint, leaving the left arm flopping uselessly. As Conway Kendall struggled to roll away from the horses and bring his gun up with his one good hand, the startled horse he had been sitting reared, and when he came down it was atop him. Ghost rushed to get the horse clear of him, but it was too late. Between the shots and the hooves, Conway Kendall was past helping. ------- Chapter 10: Souls Gather When Sam's group rode out of Kent, they left a lot of bodies, and they left them where they lay, except for two. Conway Kendall was buried in the old ghost town's cemetery with no service and little ceremony. They left a simple wooden marker that gave his name and the years he was born and died. Only Taegan spent any time there once the marker had been placed with Jenna waiting patiently for him behind the low wooden fence whose worn and falling pickets marked the edge of the town's plot. Elder Hobson was left strapped to a post in the center of town in front of the church. There was a note on this body, one from Sam Kendall. When you thought to terrorize my family, I KNEW. When you thought to subvert my grandson, I KNEW. When you were chosen as the agent who opposed me, I KNEW. When you sent your demon to take me, I KNEW. Come for me then where you know you must. There will you see, and then will you KNOW. "That seemed a bit of a taunt, don't you think?" Carlos observed when they had a moment alone on the road. "It was what it had to be," Sam answered after much thought. "He has his voices to listen to as I have mine." "You know I hear echoes when you speak, but I don't know what they have said or what they will say." "They have stopped speaking ... I've told you that, but what I didn't say before now is that they no longer needed to speak for me to hear." "What have you heard with the echoes silent?" "The future, the present, the echoes of the others and the echoes of someone I haven't spoken of before. I'll speak of that one soon enough." "I will remain patient." "As you always have, my friend." The road out of Kent danced between canyons and ravines to the east and west, threading their way south and west to the town of Shaniko. This ghost town was no bigger than Kent had been, but here the road south split. They could go straight south on highway 218 to Antelope before turning west and following what had been called the Antelope Highway, or they could continue to follow highway 97 to the west through Shaniko Junction to Axford, where 97 turned south, eventually meeting up with the Antelope Highway just north of Willowdale. The way was flatter and straighter following highway 97, and Sam and his riders had chosen it without hesitation, setting a hard pace, wanting to put some distance between them and the massacre in Kent. They didn't keep anyone ahead of them as a scout, but Ghost did drop back and keep an eye and ear out on the road behind them. Kent to Shaniko was more than a day's ride, even a hard day's ride. The pace was too quick, and the demeanor of the party too hard, to allow for idle talk. Now and then Carlos would point out something to those nearby. Something worth knowing about the trail or about the wildlife. For a change they spent the night on the open plain, each of them in their trail blankets, a few with companions for warmth. For Jenna and Taegan, it was a chance to do a little exploring, their hands finding each other under the blankets, touching, probing, pleasing. "Stop," Taegan whispered eventually. "What?" Jenna asked, afraid she'd hurt him somehow. "I'll make a mess in these blankets soon if you keep that up. Neither of us wants to have to get up in the middle of the night to get things cleaned up, do we?" "No," Jenna giggled. "To be honest, You're getting me a little sloppy feeling down there too, and I was beginning to worry that I wouldn't have enough clean panties to make the trip." "So, time out for now?" "Yeah..." Jenna sighed, "but we're building up quite a stack of mutual IOUs." "We'll just have to work hard to pay them off later." "When we get someplace with hot water. Its hard enough to go as far as we have and stop. I want to do more but I want to be able to feel clean after." "Okay," Taegan said with a slight giggle of his own. "I'll wash your back and you can wash mine." "Oh yeah, that too, but I'm thinking of clothes washing more than bathing. Opportunities to do laundry have been a little hard to come by out here. I've been enjoying this enough that the pair of panties I'm wearing are going to need changing in the morning for sure, and I don't have many clean pairs left." "And that's my fault?" Taegan teased. "Truth? It's been your fault pretty often since I was about twelve." The conversation died out, as they snuggled together to sleep. A keen-eared observer might have noted that theirs was not the only whispered conversation that night, nor were they the only two whispering promises of what the days ahead might bring. -oOo- The climb up out of the canyon and back onto the plains was complete by the time the train reached the ghost town that was Gateway. The engine had been running almost non-stop for three days and there was some concern about running out of water for the boilers once they left the river. The engineer figured they could reach Bend without a problem, and in fact they had topped off their tanks hours before while they were still running alongside the river. "We should stop here and let everyone off to stretch their legs," the firetender relayed this message back from the engineer. "Ask Walt if it can wait until we get to Madras," Greta asked him. " That's where we need to be before we can feel safe." "Okay," the young man disappeared back towards the front of the train. Madras was where they would meet Sam, she knew. Madras was where they would find freight cars that could carry the horses of those who would be joining them. Madras might be where the newest member of their group would be born. They had two women nearly at term in their pregnancies, and one of them was threatening to deliver early. Few of the passengers were soldiers, but everyone of a certain age in Columbia had undergone the PMR training. Beyond that, the Kendall Clan and their associated friends and allies were pretty serious about requesting additional training and volunteering for the minimal two years of service. It was a sign of the times that most of them completed that service by the time they were fifteen. It was also a sign of the times that the clans didn't distinguish between genders when it came to that service. Greta had no problem finding people qualified to stand a watch with a weapon in their hands at the Madras train station. Walt Samuels, the engineer who led their train crew took six armed young men into the train yard to find the freight cars they would need, and in some ways they were lucky, they found freight cars very quickly, and a good number of those cars were equipped for cattle. It took very little to make them ready to hold horses. "We've got the cars Mrs. Kendall, but we don't have the hay for feed or bedding. What was in the cars was pretty well rotted or dried to nothing." "It shouldn't be a problem, Walt," Greta told the older man, "we'll be able to stop wherever we need to to feed the horses, and they'll be happy to eat whatever wild grasses and other ground cover we can find." "We won't need to worry about pursuit?" "Oh, I'm sure we'll be pursued, but those pursuing us will be on horseback. They won't match the speed your iron horse gives us. Every hour we're moving, we're putting miles between us and any pursuit." "What about those who we're meeting? Won't they have pursuers?" "I believe it was my husband's intent to eliminate any pursuers before we met. Our hopes rest on his success or failure. The Church of the Denied aside, there are few alive who are willing to bet against him in such a contest." "Certainly not me," Walt said with a laugh. "Good enough. We'll top off the boilers and see what we can find to burn for the fires. If we're lucky there might be coal that's been stored that we can use." "You know Walt, its funny but ... well, you know my husband's story?" "Of course." "He died in the year 2007 before coming back to us. He has talked a lot about the way things were in America and the world in that future. Coal is a dirty fuel, Walt. In his day we would have had little chance of finding a coal burning steam engine or the coal to run it, but in our present, we still have some. Despite his sure knowledge that the burning of coal is bad for the Earth, and Columbia in the long term, he is willing to use it where he had to, the fact that we are where we are and when we are makes his plan possible in ways it wouldn't have in the world he once knew." "I have read the stories that have been collected about his first life, and how much a failure he considered himself to have been during it. We can be glad he seemed much more suited to this lifetime than that one." "Indeed we can, and I more than anyone." "Oh, well ... yes I suppose that would be true, eh?" the old engineer said with an embarrassed chuckle. "and your kids of course." The reunion in Madras was highly charged and happy for the most part. When the Kendalls there learned of Conway's betrayal and death, hearts broke. Bill Kendall was still in Greer, but Taegan's mom Esther was there, as was Taegan's little sister, Serendipity. Taegan's mom insisted that his sister have her chance at whatever future lay behind her father-in-law's latest vision, even if her husband had chosen to remain in the capitol. 'They follow me so willingly, so blindly, ' Sam thought to himself as he rode the train, Greta's warmth pressed up against him. He remembered the echoes telling him that people would follow him, that part of what he had become would be easy for people to follow. He had his journal in his hand and that thought made him thumb back to one of his earliest entries and read the familiar words. "I, and every person I had come in contact with had felt the same thing. I had thought, when I first felt it, that I was feeling my soul or consciousness, or whatever the part of a man was that the aliens 'reaped', being tugged on, and then slipping through. That wasn't true of course. It was not our essences being tugged on that we were feeling. It was the almost three and a half billion other people whose connection we had shared without knowing it being pulled away from us that we felt. That gentle tug was their parting." That tug, brief as it was, had pulled something loose inside of him. Something that had made it possible for things to arrive where they are now. Sam don't know if this was part of the design those who sent him back had in mind, or mere unforeseeable circumstance, but it put him someplace he didn't think they expected him to be. -oOo- The report coming back from Kent was not the report the Reverend wanted to hear. When the churchman brought the note to him and told him where it had been found, he was furious. That fury turned into a cold rage by the time he was done reading it. "The Savior of Man taunts me," he muttered, not caring who heard. "Brother Carlyle, gather the believers, we ride south." "Yes Reverend, how many will you take?" "All of them!" It took two days to gather the men and horses. There was no way to head south directly from the inn, as it was deep in the heart of the gorge. It meant traveling up or down river a considerable distance first, and while this isolation had been an asset for the Reverend in the past, it worked against him now. The downriver route would take them too close to the Portland Military Reserve and the college of cadets, so they met at Hood River. There were fifty riders by the time they were all gathered. Except for an equal number of women, who knew their place and did not ride, this was the bulk of Reverend Marchand's believers. Riding with them were the Reverend's final trump card. Three bazookas and a dozen rifles fitted with grenade launchers. "Where do we ride, Reverend?" one of his elders asked. "You ride where I ride," the elder told him, then turned to the gathered men, raising his voice. "Listen to me men, we ride south to find the Son of Satan and to end him. I will accept no hesitation, no doubt. We have been called to answer for mankind. To redeem humanity's future for his betrayal." The Reverend knew he had indeed been called. He heard the voices still, their clamor had been growing louder and more direct. The voices wore his face and spoke with his words, but there was something there he couldn't fathom. He continued to hold on to his belief that it was the voice of God, part of him clinging to that hope while another part already knew the lie behind the thought. The churchmen followed old Highway 35, the Mount Hood Highway, south through Lenz, passing Odell to the west and into the ghost town of Mount Hood. The Reverend was loathe to stop, but he saw the men tiring and knew the horses would give out long before they reached their destination if they weren't properly cared for. Still, they rode well past dusk and set up camp south of Mount Hood where Highway 35 entered Weygandt Canyon. The Reverend's men were used to hard riding and living on little on the trail. Trail rations and a few slow rabbits made their dinner. The riders broke camp at first light and the Reverend took offense at the time they wasted in preparation. Riding hard, they made the junction with Highway 26 by midday. They would have eaten in the saddle except for the need to tend the horses, but they were back in the saddle with as little delay as the Reverend could have hoped for. With so little time lost, they still didn't make it further than the eastern edge of Clear Lake before it began to get dark again, and now the road was too damaged and broken to risk riding in the dark. The next day they would reach Warm Springs, and from there Madras. He knew where Sam Kendall was headed, though he didn't know why. Be it heaven or hell, the destination didn't matter. Only that Sam Kendall would be there, and within his grasp at last. ------- Chapter 11: Together at Last They spent two days in Madras getting things ready for the long haul south. Sam, Pip, Taegan and several of the Cayuse managed to hitch some horses to an old rolling scythe and cut some wild grass that would make decent bedding for the horses. The grass was alright as fodder, but not the best. Sam used his previous expertise at the local feed and grain store, managing to salvage several hundred pounds of barley from the dry and mold free storage bins he found it in. When they left Madras, he was breathing a little easier about the horses. There were a lot of young Porters dying to tend them, and Greta put Jenna in charge of the young crew. The train was crowded, but it made the distances remaining shrink to manageable ones. They passed through Redmond barely a half hour after leaving Madras. In even less time the train covered the distance between Redmond and Bend and they passed within the city's artificial canyons. Ghost towns in general aren't attractive places, except perhaps in a haunting, unsettling way. They did not linger, or even slow down, passing through quickly, headed for La Pine. When they didn't stop at La Pine, Greta began to worry. "Sam, how are we going to transport all these people once we have to leave the railroad tracks? We only have the horses your group rode in with, and none extra, let alone enough for the hundred and fifty people we have." He was vague in his answer, which was no answer really. The true answer met them in Chemult, where the old Union Pacific line from Eugene met the Burlington Northern tracks they had been on. Brian Nileson and his three sons met the train with their families and ten buses and four moving vans. This harvest of plenty had been delivered via that Union Pacific line on flatbed rail cars, and included a van full of fodder for the horses as well as a vat of freshly brewed bio-diesel from the Agricultural station in Eugene. Mat and Mor Steiner went a little giddy on seeing it, being more familiar than most with what it took to spring that much from the station. Sam got a good hug from Brian. The two men had not had many chances to meet over the years since the Reaping. "Time to hit another one out of the park Sam?" he asked. "I'm hoping so," Sam answered. "We're still being pursued, but almost beyond danger now." The way Sam said it left Brian blinking in confusion. The way Sam's eyes seemed to lose focus, and the way he spoke, almost as if he was seeing the pursuers in his head, was disturbing. It was Sam Kendall though, and he quickly shook the feeling off. "Well, lets get everyone and everything loaded for the road. Where we headed?" "Crater Lake," Sam said, out loud for the first time. "We're meeting someone at Crater Lake." While the buses were prepped and loaded, Greta got everyone eating. It had been hard keeping everyone fed in the close quarters of the train cars. It would be even harder in the buses. It was only marginally easier outside of either. With the level of chaos generated by so many people trying to stretch their legs, making sure no one was missed was difficult. Making sure everyone got some water in them was important as well. The need, especially for the children, to have a chance to go to the bathroom took time as well. Everything was loaded and ready long before the people were, but soon enough they were loaded and on their way. The caravan of buses and trucks left Chemult headed for Diamond Lake Junction. They didn't travel any faster than the train had, and the chances for finding problems was greater on the highway than it had been on the tracks. The passed through a tiny ghost town with the name Beaver Marsh painted on the train station and a half hour later they were at the Junction which gave the city its name. They left Highway 97, which had served them so well and headed west on Highway 138. It was a little slower going here, only because they were getting into the early evening and they were using their headlights and threading their way through increasingly deteriorating road conditions. By the time they reached the turn south on Highway 232, it was fully dark. They pitched camp in the middle of the intersection, and while parents tended their children, a communal pot of stew was set to cooking and sleeping arrangements were made. It takes quite a bit to get almost two hundred people fed and in bed. A half dozen of the Cayuse set watches, but it was more to watch out for four-legged predators than the two-legged kind. Sam sat up with Greta, Carlos, Brian Nileson and a handful of others to discuss tomorrow's activities. "We'll want to get to the lodge near the south rim," Sam told them. "But the rim road may be in very poor condition. I'm not sure what kind of shape the lodge will be in either. There was a history of neglect here in the life I lived before. We have to assume it is the same now, and it has gone all these years since the Reaping with no upkeep at all. We could find there is nothing usable left. There's no rush. We'll have to wait at least another day for those chasing us to catch up." "You want them to catch up to us here?" Cooper Wilson asked. "We are here as much for their sake as we are our own," he answered. This cryptic answer soon had everyone lost in their own thoughts, and Sam used the cover it provided to retire for the night, eager once again for the comfort of his wife's arms. All of the following day was used in moving the group to the rim road and then west and south towards the Crater Lake Lodge. The rim road was in bad shape, having been beaten hard by time and weather since the Reaping. The stretch around Hillman Peak was particularly bad, and there had been a landslide near the Watchman that required a dozen men with shovels two hours to clear. Everyone else took the time to stop and have lunch while the shoveling proceeded. "Taegan appears to be taking some of his grief out on that pile of mud and rocks," his mother said to Jenna. "Better he strike out against that dirt than against his enemies," Jenna answered. "He'll do fine. He has you and he has his family. He'll do fine." "I think he's on his way already. This is just a way to release the energy he's held in check, its not a venting of anger so much as a cleansing of the residue left over from the anger that's already faded." What awaited them at the lodge was not much better than the road had been. It had indeed deteriorated badly in the thirty some years since the reaping. There were sections that were quickly determined to be unsafe, and others which were far too exposed to the elements to be usable if it rained. The main fireplace was in decent shape, but the roof of the main room had leaks. The kitchen was unusable as were half the rooms. "Not the paradise many people had expected me to take them to, is it?" Sam asked no one in particular. The people began shoring up and cleaning out the usable sections of the building. The children were put in charge of sweeping and garbage collection, but an adult was with them whenever they left the lodge proper. They were too close to the rim to risk loosing a child over it. Carlos and Ghost Cantor organized hunting parties, and soon the group's larder began to fill with deer, antelope, rabbit, ducks and pheasant. "Really a local sage grouse," Carlos explained, "but biologically, they're about the same, so we might as well put on airs and call it pheasant." Birdie Gilead and Jenna Michaels took charge of getting the stables up and running. They had Birdie's small string of mules and the two dozen horses to tend, and the animals had made a valiant effort recently in bringing their riders to safety. Their caretakers lavished care on them with enthusiasm and genuine love. These were Porter clan horses, and deserved it. Three days later Sam asked Ghost to begin keeping a watch on the two highways coming into the area. "Our pursuers could be here if they found a way to make good time. Probably another three or four days if they made the entire trip on horseback though." "Alright. I'll run four men on watches to the north and five to the south and west." "I agree they're likely to come in from the north, its the shorter route, but make sure the men watching the southern and western routes understand their importance. If Reverend Marchand is planning on sneaking up on us, he'll use one of those routes." That night Sam dreamt again of the night twenty years ago when the echoes said goodbye and spoke their final words to him. We're not offering anything," the Athlete said, emphasizing the 'we', and as he did, the group of them parted like a stage curtain, and standing behind them was ... Well, I wasn't sure at first. Then I was. OH Crap! Who was I going to share this one with? I stood speechless as I tried to get a handle on the moment. "Greetings Sam Kendall. You can call me Risaru." "Klaatu Barada Nikto?" I said. Well, sue me, but it was the first thing I thought of. Several of the echoes snickered at the line. I wasn't the only one of us fond of 'The Day the Earth Stood Still'. I hadn't seen the movie when it was released of course. I was only four after all. The Hermiston River Drive Inn had showed it every summer though, as part of its 'Creature Feature' week after the fourth of July. The alien smiled, I think. He/she/it was about shoulder height, with mottled brownish-black skin, round, kind of floppy ears that sort of puffed out whenever someone started talking. I didn't get a clear look at its teeth, but it appeared to have them. The skin I saw was on the face, neck, arm and hands, as it was wearing clothing, a dull, matte black outfit with several shades of blue trim. "That is amusing, but I left my robotic companion at home. My apologies." The others snickered again. "I guess you don't need a program when we're in my head enough for this kind of chat, huh?" "Yes and no, Sam Kendall, yes and no. We have access to the memories that are evoked by whatever you say, but we don't hold the entirety of your consciousness or your memories and experiences in our hands. Even if we could, we would choose not to." "I am a child of my generation, a child of the sixties, if that phrase holds any meaning for you," I told the alien. "At that time and in that place, the nearest edge of space was a barely achievable goal, but I've lived through a lot of imagining by others in both lives, from the movie we just referenced all the way to Star Trek and Star Wars on TV and in the movies before I died. I've seen the ideas others have had about aliens and technology, both positive and negative..." " ... And so your mind is a sea of imaginary aliens against which you cannot help but compare me," Risaru finished for me. "Exactly," I agreed. "But I'm sure you've got some reassurances." "I am what is called 'Kariti' by my society. The closest term in your language would be 'remediator'. It is my job to seek out the systems harvested by the Reapers and try to preserve something of the history of the peoples and cultures. We do not do this physically. The distances are too great and the risks too severe. Imagine my surprise when I found the cluster of consciousnesses that is you, sticking out like a sore thumb!" "So I and my fellow echoes have been shoved back in time to this here and now to save the human race from this reaping, but you are not the one responsible for it, and you are surprised to find us at all?" "Yes, exactly. We are a-bloom with curiosity over the possibility of these agents from your future. We had thought we were the only conscious entities concerned about the actions of the Reapers." "My fellow consciousness's have been able to hint only slightly about those behind our arrival here, and could only assure me that the Reapers could not detect us. Will your presence alter those facts?" "No, but you are wise to be concerned. My presence here is similar to your own, though mine is one that bridges space rather than time. In most of the matrices of reality, those two things are the same. Beyond that, I have waited all this time since the Reaping to make myself known to you, precisely to avoid such a risk. The Reapers are long gone now, and there is little to fear." Did I understand the alien? Not completely. No more than I understood the rescue I had already been under. I understood the intent of it though. Understood and appreciated it. "You have spoken of the Reapers, and I know them through their actions, as much as it is possible anyway. What of you? What are your people called? What can I know of your intentions? What hope, other than the hope for survival that our current mysterious benefactors have given us, do you hold out?" I asked. "My people are the Lomu, but I was not sent by my people. We, the Lomu that is, are a part of a great multi-galactic society of free minds. This society doesn't have a name, for the minds within it are too many and too varied to make a name meaningful. So that description, 'Society of Free Minds', is sufficient for our purposes, yours and mine." I nodded in acknowledgment, and Risaru nodded in return before continuing. "We cannot come soon, and we cannot come in person, but we will send a ship. An automated ship, filled with tools and knowledge. Twenty Earth years from now, our ship will come." "Sam?" Sammi said, hugging me. "What?" I asked. The others came over and got a hug as well, even the Sarge. "We won't be visiting anymore, Sam," The Author told me. "We've done our job, but don't worry, you'll always have a part of us within you." "Thank you." I said, meaning it as much as anything I'd ever said. I began to cry as I felt them beginning to fade. Sam woke in the middle of the night with his head spinning and heart pounding from the sheer weight of those memories. The strange reality he had bought into? The world of falling back in time, of multiple realities, alien harvesters and the slim thread of survival on a world almost bared of human presence? That world was now ready to be altered again. He felt the rush of the oncoming presence hurtling out of the night sky straight for the waters of the lake. It was a ball of silvery light in Sam's thoughts — who knew what it looked like to someone who could see it with their eyes. The watching eyes he had set were turned outward, away from the lake, not towards it. Those other eyes were not close enough yet, Sam figured. He expected to feel or hear the mental equivalent of the splash or explosion when it met the waters of the lake, but instead, the silence seemed to deepen for a moment, then the world went still. The stillness woke every single person camped there, throwing them into a chaos that only Sam had a clue about. ------- Chapter 12: The Waters of Redemption The morning was filled with chaos and energy. People seemed to understand that something had happened even without knowing what that something was. When Ghost came riding in at a gallop to report that Reverend Marshand and the Denied churchmen were eight to ten hours away, Sam knew it was time to take a walk. "Carlos, see to it that the Cayuse are called in. I should be back shortly, but if I'm not back by lunch, don't worry." He nodded his agreement, but this time even Carlos was unsure, Sam could tell. "Relax. Last night's sudden spate of wakefulness was the arrival of our guest. We are safe now," Sam said. This should have been reassuring, but it wasn't. Had this been a movie and Sam Kendall the main character, he probably would have made his way somehow to Wizard Island, taking the trail to the top of the cone to commune in solitude with the incoming alien ship. Instead, Sam simply walked to the crater rim and found a comfortable place to sit in the sun and closed his eyes. He'd been 'in communication' with the ship for weeks now, and this last day, these last few hours, were the culmination of events that Sam had seen even before the ship had been able to reach him. "Would you prefer to meet now, or together with your people?" the voice of the ship spoke in his thoughts. "I'd like to have some sense of you before then, so now would be good," Sam thought in response. "have you finished adjusting your environment?" "Yes, it is suitable now. You are currently unobserved by any of your fellow humans, but someone approaches." "I'm sure they've sent someone to keep an eye out and make sure I'm safe." "You will not be there when they arrive." And with that, Sam Kendall disappeared from the lichen-covered boulder that he had been sitting on and found himself standing in a wide room, somewhat triangular, but with rounded corners, reminiscent of an axe head. Standing before him appeared to be the same alien who he had first seen in his dreams all those years ago. "You look like Risaru, but I know you cannot be him." Sam said out loud. "No, I am not, but I thought giving my projected presence that appearance would be helpful." "What shall I call you?" Sam asked. "I have an official designation, and have been referred to by those who sent me as 'ship'. I do not have a name as such, but would not be opposed to one." "Ship, I will think on that, but no one should be given a name without an appropriate amount of reflection. Will Ship do for now?" "Of course." "Can your presence be projected outside of the ship?" "Yes, though the range is limited to several hundred miles when in atmosphere. As now. In open space that distance can be ... several of what you would call AU — astronomical units." Sam did the math in his head, or approximated it. "Several hundred million miles? Wow, that's quite a reach." "In interstellar distances, it is barely arms length, but I understand that you and your fellow humans will take some time in adjusting to these concepts." "Where on the ship are we?" "We are in what is termed the forward control station. It was designed to accommodate the greater height of your species. Translation of the symbols throughout the ship into English has been done as well. The wall in front of you would be a series of view screens. The consoles and seats you see allow for manual input for all ship functions, but normally most routine functions would be routed through me." "What sort of circumstances might warrant the use of the manual controls?" "Shipboard emergencies, hazardous conditions outside the ship. Combat." "Combat? You mean ship-to-ship combat? Have you been in combat?" "I have not experienced combat, and no knowledge of other ship intelligences having done so is available to me, but I have been given a wide amount of information, theoretical and practical on space combat as well as planetary assault techniques." "Things we hope to never have to engage in." "Exactly. "The Reverend approaches and we will have reached the end of our planned scenario soon. Do you need me to do anything to prepare?" "Only to think one more time about what you will say, and what you expect to happen." "I have been wrong about one or two things in the course of events since arriving in my own fourteen year old body," Sam spoke. "I missed an important clue, or bit of misdirection, depending on how you look at it, when I failed to take note of the echo who appeared dressed like an astronaut. Or rather, I should have taken note when he failed to reappear with the other echoes. He was the one who first spoke of the coming end, but he let me believe it was a battle, a war that we had lost every time. Not the reaping that it truly was." "That seems like a large thing to have missed," Ship responded. "I think I had help in missing it. I also somehow never made the connection between those who had laid the trap on the road back from Portland after the Reaping and those whose hands I couldn't shake ... Well, I made a connection, but it wasn't the one I should have. I'd never laid eyes on any of those men. Trust me, I had every single person I'd encountered whose hand I couldn't shake burned into my brain, and these people were completely unknown to me." "Perhaps they were among those whose hands you did shake. Merely opportunists seeking power?" Ship asked. "I thought so too, for a long time. But since the Reaping, I've had a connection with every single person I've touched. Every one," Sam waited for a reaction, but got none. "Now, after all these years, I can tell you where every one of those people are, at any time. Not those born to them, but to those I've touched, the connection is ... natural. It has been a comfort and a curse." Sam, turned away from the image of Ship then, "a comfort and a curse." Through those senses, which he had come to trust more and more in recent years, Sam took one more 'look' at where all the players in the upcoming drama were. Sam was back at the lodge in time for lunch, though no one could say where he had come from, except to say they had seen him coming down one of the lodge's stairways. Carlos raised an eyebrow when he saw him. They ate a rabbit stew and fresh baked biscuits with gravy. Afterwards, he asked for everyone's attention, calling in everyone, even the Cayuse who were standing watch at the entrance to the lodge grounds. "Hello again everyone," he began. "Hi Sam!" came the answer from most of them, which generated a laugh. "Its good that you feel comfortable enough to laugh. I promised you that you would be safe here, and you are. Even though an enemy will be here in only a few short hours, an enemy who sees each of you as evil, for your support of me, you are safe. We are safe. Even they are safe, though they may not choose to be. In the coming hours you are going to learn things about me, about the future and about the time since the Reaping that will be hard to believe. Then you will have to decide again whether you want to follow where I will go. For now, we need to stay gathered at the lodge. Keep the young children close." "You are asking a lot of us, Sam, when you say the Reverend and his dogs are coming, but do not have us arming ourselves and preparing defenses," Walt Samuels said loudly. "That I am, Walt," Sam answered. "It is a lot to ask. You all have already shown a lot of faith in me up until now. How about this? Taegan, Jenna, Sam, Pip, Connor, Dante? Would you come up here by me where everyone can see you? Brian, you too please." "Let's start with Jenna," Sam said once those called had gathered by him. "Jenna, how did you know to get on the ferry and begin the trip to Wasco?" Jenna Michaels rolled her eyes in thought for a moment, trying to remember the recent events leading up to this journey. "I was at a family gathering. My brother Greg had just ridden in and he brought the mail. The note from you must have come in that mail." "Sam Porter, how about you?" "I was at that same gathering and left about the same time Jenna did. I remember getting the note then too." "Who handed the note to you Jenna?" Sam asked. "Or to you Sam?" Both stared into space for long moments trying to remember. "You have no answer, because you have no memory of ever having received that note," Sam told them. "Brian?" "Yes Sam?" Brian Nileson answered, already having a sense of where this was going. "Why did you arrive at Chemult with the people and the supplies? Who asked you to do this?" "Well, you did Sam?" "When?" Brian stood there blankly for a long while. "I guess I don't remember." Connor, Dante? You flew into Kent on Connor's ultralight. Do you remember who told you to meet me there?" "You did," Connor answered. Dante looked less certain. "I remember knowing you wanted me to meet you there. I don't remember how I know that." "Taegan, Pip? How about you two? You're direct blood relations. Did I send some secret family message?" "No dad," Pip said. "No sir," Taegan added. "You knew because I did tell you. All of you," Sam said, looking at those called forward. "The same is true of all of you. You knew to meet the train, you knew when and where, even though no one had told you. Greta, did you send out word?" "I thought I did, but I'm not so sure now," she answered. "You didn't," Sam told her, "I did." "What does all this mean?" Walt asked. "Those of you in the family and associated clans have heard the stories of my Echoes, and of my trip back to this Sam Kendall. You've heard of the Reaping, or experienced it yourself." A sea of nodding faces answered that non-question. "The echoes arriving probably started it, along with the trip back. Loosened something up in me that is normally very tightly bound. Even so it wasn't enough then, to break it loose." "But!" "But, at the moment of the reaping, that tug! That tug those of us who were alive for it all felt. That tug broke it loose. We were and are a part of a sort of collective ... something. A collective identity, maybe. A community of spirit that, on an individual level, we seldom feel. It is deeply buried in us, normally, though some have a touch of it, as Carlos does, as others do." Again a sea of nods. "When we all felt the tug of those three billion souls being torn from the fabric of that collective consciousness we didn't even know we shared, it loosened it some in a few people, reminded others that it was there..." Sam stood straighter then, defiantly it might have seemed to some. "But in me, Sam Kendall from the future, who had been bumped through time and worried on by the echoes of other futures, it didn't loosen, it broke free completely. We are still part of that unity, all of us. We are connected, and that connection is something I can see ... and touch! For those I touched before the Reaping, those I 'saved', the connection is much, much stronger. You thought to go where you needed to go, to do what needed doing because I reached out to each of you through that connection. There were no notes, no messages passed along, no secret conspiracy. You thought it because I thought it and through the connection, shared it." "Are you reading our minds then Sam?" "No ... but I see them ... I feel them and can touch them. It's like they are a part of me. Each of you are a part of me, an extension of me, as I am an extension of each of you. Do you 'feel' each of your fingers and toes individually? Do you control each hair on your head? No, but it is a part of you even so." "So you are able to follow the Reverend, like you are us?" one of the boys in the background asked. "No," Sam answered, shaking his head. "Good question though. The Reverend is different. In some ways he is like me. He too is an agent of others. His purpose though is to oppose me and nothing else." "So you cannot sway the Reverend as you have us?" someone else asked. "Do not misunderstand," Sam was quick to correct. "I am no mind controller. I cannot make you do what you do not want to do. I can insert thoughts and information, but I cannot control. Each of you is here because you were already willing to act on my behalf." Sam's tone softened and his eyes moistened as he added. "Each of you is here because you were willing to put my needs before your own." "We are all, in our own way religious people, Sam. Not that we are unified in our beliefs," Cooper Wilson said with some emotion. "We do not worship you Sam. You are not God. But none here would disagree with me when I say you ARE our savior, in the purest sense of the word." "And we may not be able to know the motives of whoever or whatever sent you back to us, sent you back to be our savior..." Greta added stepping up to hug him. "But I for one know what your motives are, and what they have always been. Love." She kissed Sam then, but not as a lover might, but as a reveler might, as a celebrant, to express joy and happiness. Two hours later the Reverend and his churchmen rode fifty strong into view, stopping a couple hundred yards from the lodge's entrance. Sam Kendall, with Carlos Arellano and Ghost Cantor on each side of him walked out to meet them. "I see you got my message Reverend," Sam said, stopping fifty feet from the mounted party. The horses looked spent. Worse, a good number of them looked to be past saving. "There was no need to kill good horses getting here. We would have waited." "You seem to know a lot more about my plans than you should, demon!" The Reverend yelled from his saddle. "You have been safe from my knowing," Sam answered. "But those around you have not. Elder Hobson in particular was always a good source of information. He was seldom far from the action." "So you say, Denier," the Reverend screamed. "Shoot him!" The churchmen drew their weapons, and Carlos and Ghost moved in reaction, but Sam held up a hand. "Please, don't shoot back." He had only that much time before the first shots were fired. Then he had more, as the firing continued with no effect. Fifty men fired and the three men stood unharmed. Those watching might have noticed the fusillade of bullets collecting in a smooth arc halfway between the two groups, the flattened metal slowing drawing a shallow, arcing line on the ground. "The Devil protects himself and his men," one of the men shouted at last. "Use the rockets," Reverend Marchand called out. "Target the lodge." As pairs of men dismounted and began setting up their bazookas, Sam again held up a restraining hand. "They are in no more danger than we are," he told his companions. They watched together as the first bazooka fired, and flinched together as the first shell exploded in the air above them, the explosion dying out quickly in the seemingly empty air. "What evil is this!" The Reverend screamed, spittle flying. He jumped from his horse and ran towards Sam Kendall, pulling a knife from his belt. When the running man's blade began its plunge, Sam simply stepped aside and pounded a fist into the side of the Reverend's temple. The reverend dropped like a stone and Sam picked up the knife from where it had fallen. The Reverend was slow getting up, but get up he did, his eyes firmly locked on his knife, now in Sam's hand. "No evil," he answered the stunned Reverend. "No magic, no wizardry. It never was, as you well knew. It was merely science. Some beyond our ability to know..." Sam threw the knife to the ground at Carlos' feet and waited for the Reverend. Thaddeus Marchand was many things, but he was no coward, and no stranger to physical confrontation. He stepped forward, snapping a punch at Sam's head which caught only a glancing blow as Sam moved slightly in reaction. The punch brushed Sam's cheek before landing on the side of his neck. Sam ignored the pain and counter punched, landing another blow to the side of the Reverend's face, lower this time, below the right eye. The Reverend shrugged off that blow, blinking madly and punched low into the ribs. Sam took the blow and returned it with a shot to the Reverend's kidneys. He had to step in for that punch and used the closeness to add a head butt that caught the reverend under the chin and sent him scrambling backwards, not quite losing his balance. Sam took two quick steps forward, meaning to finish things, but the Reverend saw an opening and let himself fall to the ground, bringing a foot up at the same time, catching Sam low, just above the groin, and sending him flying over the Reverend's head and into the dirt behind him. This time it was Sam's turn to scramble up from the ground. The Reverend had gotten to his feet ahead of him and was taking a swing even as Sam was straightening. Sam caught the blow with a forearm and deflected it, stepping in and landing a solid straight punch to the Reverend's nose that broke it and sent blood everywhere. Sam didn't wait, he stepped forward again and sent another punch, with the left hand this time, into the Reverend's ruined nose, following it with a lifted knee to the groin that had the Reverend back on the ground again, gasping for air and retching at the same time. "No evil," Sam repeated. "No magic, no wizardry. Science beyond our ability to know." Sam glanced behind him then. "And some not so impossible." As he said these last words the Earth seemed to shake and the sound of rushing water rose from the lake behind them. From beyond the lodge and the crater rim rose a shape, indistinct at first as water poured from it in gleaming streams, that quickly resolved into a rounded crescent shape with the 'horns' of the crescent facing them. The tips of the crescent were very much rounded and blunt, and not symmetrical, nor was the main body of the crescent symmetrical. There were bulges and blisters here and there, as well as recessed sections. The ship's appearance caused quite a stir within the crowd gathered in front of the lodge, and even more of a panic among the mounted Churchmen. As the evidence in front of them sank in, Sam lifted Thaddeus Marchand to his feet and stood him in front of him. "This is not about God and the devil. It never was. Those speaking to you are not angels or spirits, and I suspect you've known this all along. This is not about the rapture, or Christ's return, or heaven and hell. If it was, then who sent me to do what I did, and who sent you? If it was, then what is your purpose in defying the choices that your own scripture tells you would be of God's choosing and none other? You simply chose a story which allowed you to oppose me most effectively. The ship you see behind me was sent by aliens advanced enough to be aware of the reaping and those doing it. Like us, they have no way to oppose the reaping itself. Like those who sent me, they do have a way to try to make the reaping survivable, at least for some of those who go through it. Between those who sent me, and the benefactors who sent the ship, we will survive. Perhaps we will survive long enough and grow as a species long enough to learn someday what the reaping really means. Perhaps we will someday learn enough about ourselves to know whether there is a connection between the scriptural rapture and the reaping as we experienced it. If I could be sent back within my own lifetime, perhaps someone or something was sent back even further. The point is, I guess, that this is pretty much unknowable for us now. We have more important things like survival to worry about now. We have other decisions to make that must be made now. Those who sent you back chose you to oppose me. Now, having failed to do that, you will have to choose again. I will be boarding that ship soon and leaving Columbia and Earth. By leaving, I intend to remove your greatest weapon, fear of me. Few will support a message of hate directed at someone who is not there." "I think you are wrong," the Reverend spat. "I don't think so, and I don't think you do either, unless you have let those influencing you all these years warp you beyond all reason, you know that those who follow you will not be able to hate a memory like they could a man." "They will still follow me." "No, they will not. Look at them, they are filled with doubt now. Doubt that will grow stronger. You have lost them because they have seen that the reality you offered them is a lie." The ship shifted itself towards the south and come to rest hovering a dozen feet in the air above the open ground to the south of both groups. An opening appeared, a ramp sliding smoothly out and down from it, stopping inches from the ground. A small, thin looking figure came walking down that ramp and across the open ground towards Sam. "Klaatu Barada Nikto." Ship said. It took a second, but Ghost snickered. A second later, Carlos snorted and slapped Sam on the shoulder, and not gently. "Too much, you think?" Ship asked. --Epilogue-- "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Crater Lake Information Center. My name is Canada Carmody, and I will be your guide. Before we begin the tour itself, let me remind you that for your safety, the rim of the crater itself is off limits except in the designated areas. There is a hiking tour that explores the crater rim which can be taken on Tuesdays and Fridays. For the more adventurous of you, there is a five day walking tour that hikes and camps around the entire rim wall. Please ask at the guide desk if you would like more details." Canada increased the wattage on her smile somewhat and scanned the crowd. Fourteen people was a good sized group, even for a holiday weekend. "Any questions before we begin?" "Yeah," came a male voice from the back of the group. "Are you single?" "None of your business, thank you" she replied with the same brilliant smile, accompanied by the laughter of the rest of the tour. "Now, lets begin with the lodge itself, shall we?" Canada gestured with her hand at the lodge's main room, most of which was behind them. "The lodge began construction in 1909 and was originally opened to guests in 1915. It was not a commercial success. Expenses were high, the area was remote and the building season short. In addition, winter is harsh here, and the snow, which could accumulate to depths of as much as fifteen feet, posed considerable problems for the original designers." Canada moved her party effortlessly from the main room to the exterior entrance where the group could look back at the lodge from the outside. "The lodge was not a shining example of the triumph of man over nature, but it drew large crowds despite the spartan conditions. In the early nineteen twenties it was enlarged and improved. Over the years between its opening and the Reaping, the building began to deteriorate. Its owners were struggling financially and the facility suffered. It was already in poor shape structurally at the time of the Reaping." "What room did Sam Kendall stay in?" a young girl asked. "We don't know, really. They didn't record that kind of information, and in any event, when Sam Kendall brought his group here, they found that the thirty five years that had passed since the Reaping had not been kind to the structure. Many of those who came here then probably slept in tents outside the lodge proper." "We will be moving next to the Sinnott Memorial overlook and museum. The museum is divided into two sections, the park's pre-Reaping history is outlined on the northern side of the museum, and the post-Reaping history is told on the southern side," Canada first pointed and then began moving towards the memorial. "Why all this talk about the history of the lodge?" someone asked from beside her. "Everyone here is interested in Sam Kendall and the space ship." "The history of this place includes much more than the story of Sam Kendall and his journey to Crater Lake," Canada answered. "It wouldn't be fair to those who built this place to sweep them aside in favor of the current celebrity. Sam Kendall himself asked that we remember those who came before him here. There are other places to hear the story of Earth and its history, just as there are places to hear the story of Sam Kendall's journey to the stars. Crater Lake has many stories to tell, and Sam Kendall's is only one of them ... Now, you have thirty minutes here before we head to the lake itself and the central power station on Wizard Island, but the museum is open until 6 pm every day and your open tour passes are good for the next three days." The regular museum guides would be able to handle the group's questions for a while, Canada thought, giving her time to grab another cup of coffee. She loved her job, but Earth was such a quaint place. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2009-02-13 Last Modified: 2009-02-27 / 03:40:56 pm ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------